


Love is a Temporary Madness

by Beckers522



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: 6000 Years of Pining (Good Omens), 6000 Years of Slow Burn (Good Omens), Angst, Drama & Romance, Eventual Happy Ending, First Kiss, Hurt Aziraphale (Good Omens), Hurt/Comfort, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Jealous Crowley (Good Omens), Love Confessions, M/M, Mutual Pining, Protective Crowley (Good Omens), Rating May Change, Revenge, Tags May Change
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-22
Updated: 2019-11-24
Packaged: 2020-10-26 06:49:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 52
Words: 159,537
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20737982
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Beckers522/pseuds/Beckers522
Summary: "They'll leave us alone, for a bit. If you ask me, both sides are going to use this as breathing space, before the big one.""I thought that was the big one.""No. For my money, the really big one is going to be all of us against all of them.""What? Heaven and Hell against...humanity?"The Apocalypse has come and gone, but Heaven and Hell aren't satisfied. They'd tried and failed to enact their revenge once. Perhaps it is time to try a different strategy.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> I'm a few weeks into my last fall semester of grad school and am finding myself in need of another writing project to keep myself from going crazy. This idea popped into my head a few months ago, so I figured now was as good a time as any to explore it. With my schedule as it is now, there is no way I'll be able to update as quickly as I did in my last Good Omens fic, so expect to see something posted here about once or twice a week. 
> 
> As always, comments are always welcomed with open arms. The more feedback I get, the more excited I get about writing a story and the quicker I'll try to finish it :)

Deep within the deepest bowels of Hell, several demons sat scheming. More accurately, three of them were sitting while the fourth stood at the front of the damp, dark room, pacing angrily back and forth. They had been at it for quite some time and had created a list a mile long of possible punishments, but nothing seemed  _ bad _ enough for the creature they all had in mind. He was a traitor to their kind, and he would get what was coming to him - as soon as they figured out just what that was.

“We could poison him,” one of the demons suggested, scratching at the scales on the side of his face in irritation. “Make it a super painful one, with lots of blood and bile before the end.”

There was a shuffle of papers as another demon began sorting through their pile of notes. The lighting around them was dim and almost green in color, but that hardly mattered. Demons dwelled in the shadows of the universe, seeking out darkness over light. Their eyes hardly needed a flicker of it in order to see.

“Ah,” he said. “Here it is. Page 51.” There was a collective groan from the three seated beings. They’d been at this for days and hadn’t found any form of punishment that seemed to stick. If they were being honest, which demons rarely were, the group was getting quite tired of it all.

“What’s wrong with poisoning again?” The third demon at the table asked, averting her eyes from the figure at the front of the room. He had been quiet for the last hour, silently fuming at their growing incompetence. They were demons, for Satan’s sake. Their entire existence was based around torture of the most grievous kind. Surely they could do better than this!

“Temporary fix for a permanent problem,” the demon in charge of the notes read off, as if by reading nothing more than the words on the page, he would absolve himself of any responsibility when their leader decided enough was enough. “Assured discorporation resulting in return to the Underworld.”

All the demons shivered at that last remark, though the room remained the same temperature and it would have been impossible for a breeze of any kind to find its way into this tightly sealed chamber. That was what had been so complicated about this particular torture. Any means of discorporation would result in the traitor’s return to Hell - an unacceptable outcome in their minds. It wasn’t that they were scared of him - demons weren’t frightened of anything. Still, any demon who could withstand a tub full of holy water was not a creature to be underestimated. 

And therein lies the problem. How to cause unbearable permanent torture without dealing enough direct damage to kill?

“What about if we wrecked his car?”

The demon with the notes shook his head again, flipping back a few more pages. “Page 27: Damage car. Not painful enough. Could be fixed. Chance he’d find out it was us.”

Silence descended upon the group again. They couldn’t have that either. Naturally, the traitor had been locked out of Hell the moment he’d left to return to Earth, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t find a way back in given enough motivation. One demon against all of Hell sounded on paper like a suicide mission, but this was no ordinary demon. They’d seen proof of this fact with their very eyes. 

One of the lesser demons began fidgeting uncomfortably with her talons as the creature standing at the front of the room turned to face them, fire in his coal black eyes.

“You mean to tell me that this is the BEST YOU CAN DO?!?!”

The three demons at the table began cowering before Hastur, Duke of Hell. His black eyes began sweeping the room, staring down at each of them with the same contempt that a human would hold for a maggot. Fists clenched together in front of him, the Duke took a single step forward, the charred edges of his trenchcoat shifting around him, sending shadows skittering up the sides of the stone walls.

“We’re sorry, Your Dukeship,” the female-looking demon began, averting her eyes once more. “We’ve come up with a multitude of ideas that would work on any  _ normal  _ demon. But Cr - “

“Do not speak his name!” Hastur hissed, rage flooding his entire being.

The demon who had spoken to him squeaked in alarm and buried her head in her hands. Hastur turned away from his subordinates, taking several paces forward before striking the wall with his curled fist. The stone gave a satisfying crunch before a section of it crumbled to the floor. A hint of a smirk graced the demon’s lips, instantly vanishing when the sound of slow clapping drifted into his ears, echoing in the chamber around them.

Another demon had entered the room without displacing walls or windows or doors. He was currently sitting on the table amidst the piles of papers that had been left there by the cowering lesser demons. Several of the bits of parchment had been strewn across the floor, still fluttering in the wake of this new demon’s appearance. Hastur turned, frowning when he saw who it was.

“What do you want?” He asked gruffly of the newcomer. A wicked smile appeared on the lips of the new demon. It was unnaturally bright, but Hastur knew that would change. Sure enough, before the new demon had a chance to speak, his face began to shift ever so slightly, morphing into something new. The change happened gradually enough that onlookers could see the subtle difference in skin tone or in the shape of the jaw line. Yet, in the blink of an eye, he could look like an entirely new being. Hastur always found this change off-putting. Even more so when the demon chose to display multiple faces at once, which he had started doing now.

“No need to be so defensive, Duke Hastur.” The way the new demon said his name made Hastur want to rip his throat out, but he refrained. There weren’t many rules down here in Hell, but attacking another Duke would surely get him into a spot of trouble. “I am only here to offer my services.”

Hastur scoffed. “What assistance could you possibly provide us?”

The demon grinned again, perfectly structured teeth shifting apart and together ever so slowly in his mouth, aligning themselves with the new face he’d chosen. “I’ve been watching the lot of you scheme for some time now. And I must say you’re going about it in entirely the wrong way.”

This time, Hastur did not give him the satisfaction of a response. If this Duke wanted to butt his nose in where it was unwelcome, he would have to do it entirely on his own.

Realizing that his audience was not going to play along, the demon’s smile fell. His now perfectly groomed eyebrows furrowed over a pair of steel grey eyes and puckered pink lips that were already stretching themselves to be rougher and thinner. The demon uncrossed his legs and stood up from his seat on the table, purposefully dumping a number of the pages on the floor near his feet.

“There are more types of pain than just physical, my  _ dear  _ Hastur,” the demon said, placing a hand on the Duke’s shoulder. Hastur grimaced, nose wrinkling in disgust. The gesture would have been almost comforting, if they’d been human. They were not and the look in Hastur’s eyes would surely have destroyed a demon of lesser caliber. Still, the newcomer refused to back down.

“If you want to hurt the traitor, you have to scar him  _ emotionally. _ He’s been up on the surface far too long - formed some rather interesting attachments.” The demon paused for dramatic effect, then glowered once more when he realized his audience was either too stupid or too proud to play along with his little game. “Emotions are what make the humans so weak and we can use that weakness against him. We can cause him eternal pain and suffering without laying a finger on him.”

The demon’s words were starting to intrigue Hastur. He hated to admit it, but he was curious to see what this new plan was. Eternal pain without physically hurting someone? It sounded too good to be true. If this sort of torture was real, all their problems would be solved. 

“And how would we go about doing that?” Hastur asked, grinding his teeth together, feeling his insides start to writhe around as he realized he’d just gone against his previous stance of maintaining his silent contempt for the newcomer.

The wicked grin returned, and Hastur found it impossible to look away from the demon’s steely gray eyes. They were the only thing that remained a fixed constant in the creature’s otherwise ever-changing shape. “It’s simple, my friend. We just have to take away the one thing Crawly cares for the most.”


	2. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A demon and an angel sit and feed the ducks and make plans for brunch.

On a crisp Saturday afternoon in the middle of October, two men sat side by side on a bench in St. James Park. In each of their hands sat a single slice of white bread that was slowly being torn into tiny pieces and tossed into the pond at their feet. Rather, the gentleman in the tan jacket and bow-tie was tossing the bread gently into the water where a family of ducks was waiting to catch it, while the man in the black blazer and skinny jeans was pelting the bread at the unsuspecting birds’ heads.

“My dear,” the blonde man said, turning to give his companion a disapproving look. “Is that really necessary? These poor creatures haven’t done anything to provoke you. They are simply trying to live their lives in the way that they were created to.”

The red-haired man scoffed. “Maybe they should have been created  _ smarter _ .” He tossed another pellet of bread, nailing one of the ducks on the center of its bill. It quacked at him, indignantly. “Then they’d be able to take a hint and  _ bugger off already. _ ”

At the sound of his raised voice, several of the ducks experienced a sudden and inexplicable thought that they could quite possibly be in a great deal of danger. With a loud chorus of quacks, they took off into the air, scattering a handful of feathers as they went. 

“Wonderful,” the blonde huffed. “Now, what am I supposed to do with all this bread?” A frown appeared on his face as he looked dejectedly at the still rippling waters. The red-haired man rolled his eyes behind a pair of expensive looking black sunglasses, though he couldn’t keep the smile off his face for long. 

“Come on, Angel.” He waved his hand and the bread had vanished. “You worry too much.”

The blonde refused to turn his head to look at his companion. After a moment of silence passed between them, the other man sighed. “Fiiiinnee… What can I do to make it up to you? We could go for ice cream. Or we could try out that new brunch place that opened up across from your shop.” He leaned forward, placing his elbows securely on his knees as he looked over at the other man. “I know how much you love brunch.” A pause. “Come on, Aziraphale.”

“Alright, Crowley, alright,” Aziraphale conceded, a hint of a smile appearing on his face. “You can treat me to brunch tomorrow.”

It was a strange thing, Crowley thought as the two men gathered their things and headed back towards the antique bookstore in Soho. In previous centuries, the pair could have gone multiple decades without running into each other and the time apart seemed to make little difference to them. They’d never really felt the desire to seek each other out at all until The Arrangement had begun, and even then, it wasn’t like they had seen each other every day or even every week for that matter.

Eleven years ago, that all changed. With the birth of the Antichrist, Crowley and Aziraphale found themselves spending more and more time together - sometimes seeing each other multiple days in a row. They would dine together, spend hours at Aziraphale’s bookshop in engaging discussions, and wandering together through St. James Park. Now that the Apocalypse had been averted, they had no reason to remain in this pattern, but for the past six months , they had done so anyway. Perhaps they had grown accustomed to each others presence. Perhaps they were worried if they didn’t check up on each other every once in a while, then their respective head offices would instead. 

Whatever their reasons were, Crowley and Aziraphale spent part of nearly every day together. Of course, they had their own hobbies and interests. Aziraphale had his books and his teas and Crowley, naturally, had his Bentley and his plants. The two were as opposite as two could be - Left versus Right, Night versus Day… Angel versus Demon. And yet, over the 6000 years they had been present on Earth, they had formed a bond like no other. 

This was why, when the duo reached the steps leading up to the angel’s bookshop, Aziraphale politely asked the demon if he wanted to come inside. Crowley smiled in what most humans would describe as ‘fondly’ but he would vehemently deny it if anyone ever pointed that fact out.

“Another time, Angel. I’ve got to have a strongly worded discussion with some of my begonias. They’ve been looking a bit wilted lately, and, well,” he paused, snakelike eyes flashing mischievously behind his sunglasses. “We can’t have that.”

“No,” the angel said, returning the affectionate smile. “I suppose we can’t”.

Crowley offered a casual wave before turning back to the bentley parked on the side of the road. “I’ll be over at 10 tomorrow to pick you up for brunch.”

Aziraphale grinned. “Delightful. Goodbye Crowley!”

“Ciao.”

The angel stood on his doorstep a little while longer, watching his companion climb into the car and drive away, a shadow of a smile still gracing his face. He felt the familiar sensations of peace, joy, and love settle in around him as he gazed out over his little corner of Soho. This was his  _ home _ now. The events that had transpired a few months ago had proven this to be true. He was grateful that the apocalypse had been thwarted, grateful that he still had his little corner bookshop, grateful that he had Crowley in his life. Even though he hadn’t quite said it in words, Aziraphale considered the demon to be a friend - his  _ best  _ friend. A few months ago, that thought would have appalled and worried him to no end. Angels and Demons were hereditary enimies, after all. Funny how quickly perspectives could change.

_ Right _ . A serious look came over the angel’s face. Time to get back to his books. There was so much to do! Stacks to organize, shelves to dust, new books to read. Aziraphale wondered how he would ever get it all done.

He bustled over to the stack of tomes currently piled up on his desk and began to move them one by one to other parts of the shop, seemingly at random. This was something he’d gotten in the habit of doing once every month or two. Aziraphale had noticed over the years that repeat customers tended to be put off by the change, especially when he “forgot” to rearrange the shelf labels with them. There was always an order to the apparent chaos he created in the bookshop, but it was an order that only Aziraphale knew.

A rustling sounded at the edge of his hearing as the angel passed by a shelf currently labeled “History” that he knew currently contained only American poetry from the 19th century. Aziraphale paused and turned to his left, focusing his ears on the sound, trying to pinpoint its location.

From what he could tell, it was coming from the back of the bookshop. A brief flicker of fear ignited in the pit of Aziraphale’s stomach. Was there someone here? A human couldn’t have gotten in while he was away - he had protections in place to ward off any potential ruffians. Could a demon have broken into the shop? Or worse, an angel? The last time he’d had a run in with any of them, the agents of Heaven and Hell had been thoroughly convinced to leave him and Crowley alone for an extended period of time. It had only been six months. Could their time of peace be up so quickly?

Aziraphale breathed a sigh of relief when he spotted the bird. A dove had situated itself on the rafters above, head cocked ever so slightly as it looked around the room. The angel watched as the snowy white creature fluttered its wings once more and dove down, slamming itself into the shop’s front window.

“Goodness gracious!” Aziraphale exclaimed as he hastily dropped the book he was carrying onto the nearest surface, miracle already buzzing at his fingertips. The creature immediately calmed and landed on the back of a nearby chair, cooing quietly as Aziraphale approached. The angel smiled as the bird flapped its wings once for good measure, noticing the spattering of golden brown feathers hidden amongst the white. He was glad to see it wasn’t hurt.

“There now,” he soothed, leaning over the bird to flip open the metal latch holding the two window panes together. “No need to injure yourself over a silly thing like a window. How did you get stuck in here anyways?”

The dove did not respond. Aziraphale hadn’t expected it to, really, but it would have made for a nice surprise. Smiling gently, the angel gave a single push and the window swung open with a loud creak. He’d half expected the creature to get spooked again by the noise, but the dove remained calm, the effects of Aziraphale’s miracle still wrapped around its small brain, keeping it from doing anything to cause more harm.

“There you go, lovely,” the angel murmured softly. The dove looked up at him with glistening black eyes. “Off with you. And no more sneaking into bookshops. There may not always be someone around to help you find your way out again.”

The dove ‘cooed’ and then was off, leaving a single feather in its wake. Aziraphale smiled as he picked it up, moving the token to the nearest bookshelf so it would be out of the way. The autumn breeze filtered in through the now glass-free window. Breathing in deeply, the angel closed his eyes. What a glorious day. He should really open the windows more often, especially when the weather was so nice.

Briefly, an image of Crowley entered his mind. He wondered if the demon had gotten home yet and how the talk with his plants were going. The edges of his mouth curled upward again as he remembered the first time he had seen that luscious garden. Before the End of Days, Aziraphale had never stepped foot into Crowley’s flat. They had always met out on the town or in his bookshop. 

If the Apocalypse had never happened, would Aziraphale have ever known how talented a gardener his friend was? Despite his rather harsh methods, the angel had never seen plants as vibrant. They had instantly reminded him of a very special garden they’d both seen ages ago. Even after six- _ thousand _ years of knowing each other, it appeared there was still something he could learn. That thought alone brought a rush of excitement to Aziraphale’s heart that he could not explain. 

“Ah yes,” the angel breathed to himself as he opened his eyes once more, his mind returning to the present moment. “Where was I?” There were books to organize after all. Couldn’t go about dreaming the day away, no matter how much he may want to.

With a single flourish, the book was back in his arms and Aziraphale strode over to the shelf at the far end of the room. He grabbed a nearby dust rag and wiped the shelf clean before placing the tome where it belonged - at least for the next month or two.

Sounds from the city drifted in through the open window and the angel smiled contentedly. Running his finger down the spine of the book he’d just shelved, Aziraphale nodded in satisfaction. Turning around, he began making his way back toward the front of the shop, careful not to trip over any of the furniture that lay in his path.

One down, many more to go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we go. I know it's a little bit of a slow start here, but I promise things pick up pretty quickly in this story and don't really slow down much once that happens. I've gotten most of the plot figured out, just working on how exactly I want to end the story now, but I'm super excited to keep writing. I think there are some pretty neat things going on, so I hope that you all stick around to find out what they are!


	3. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale waits for Crowley to arrive for brunch and meets a new acquaintance.

Ten minutes before 9 am the next morning, Aziraphale was interrupted by a sharp knock on the door. He had been sitting in his favorite armchair, enjoying a cup of hot cocoa and his favorite copy of The Secret Garden. There were seven such copies in the bookshop, each printed at a different point in history, but this one was his favorite because of the pictures. Beautiful watercolors that someone had hand painted onto the blank pages set aside for just a thing. He spent nearly as much time looking at the images as he did reading the actual words on the opposite page.

“We’re closed,” the angel called out as the knock sounded again. Honestly, he had the hours posted right there. He couldn’t fathom what part was hard to understand. The signs specifically said on Tuesdays, he normally opened the shop around 9:30 or 10 unless he was elsewhere. It should have been as clear as day. Today was Sunday, which meant Tuesday’s rules applied. Except for the few times they didn’t. Even if his guest hadn’t been able to understand the note, there was a sign flipped to ‘closed’ right in the front window. That should be explanation enough.

The knock sounded a third time. Aziraphale put the book down, huffing slightly under his breath. Who else could be at his door at this hour? He glanced quickly at his pocket watch, the golden hands slowly rotating around the pale white face. Crowley wasn’t due for another hour, at least. Had Aziraphale gotten the time wrong? Surely the demon would just waltz in through the locked door if he was here early. What reason did he have to knock?

“Look, Crowley,” the angel began as he reached for the doorknob, rotating it in the palm of his hand. “If you wanted to move up our brunch, you really should have called first.”

Blue eyes glanced over and Aziraphale found himself face to face with a man who was most definitely not the demon Crowley.

Standing in between the two pillars that bordered the front doors was a man who looked to be in his early to mid thirties. He was a few inches taller than Aziraphale with neatly combed brown hair and long eyelashes that framed a pair of blue-grey eyes, brightened by the soft blue sweater laying across the man’s chest. The man smiled down at Aziraphale, revealing a pair of deep set dimples and two rows of immaculately white teeth.

“So sorry to bother you,” he began, folding his hands respectfully in front of him. Aziraphale opened the door a bit wider, not wanting to come off as rude and standoffish to this polite stranger. “I realize you aren’t open for another few hours.” The man paused, biting the inside of his cheek. Aziraphale offered up a tentative smile, hoping to relax the human who had been bold enough to approach his doorstep.

“I was just wondering - would it be alright with you if I set up a stand just on the other side of your shop?” he gestured down the sidewalk a ways, off to Aziraphale’s right. “I was hoping to sell some of my artwork and this looks like a great location. I’d keep out of your way. You wouldn’t even know I was here unless you looked directly out of that window.”

The moment the word ‘art’ left the man’s lips, Aziraphale’s face broke out into a wide smile. “Of course, my dear boy!” he gushed, unable to contain his excitement. “That would be absolutely wonderful. Oh! Do you need some help putting everything together? I’m free for the next hour or so. I’d be delighted to give you a hand.”

Aziraphale watched as the man’s eyes widened. His smile fell a fraction. Had he been too forward? Goodness, he sounded like a lunatic, getting all excited like that over a complete stranger’s artwork. He didn’t even know if this gentleman was any good. What was he thinking, offering up his help just like that? Surely, this man hadn’t come here for his company. He’d just wanted to make sure his art stand wouldn’t upset Aziraphale or any of his potential customers.

“That’s very generous of you, sir. But I would hate to impose.”

The angel shook his head, but paused before responding. Was this man simply being polite? Or was this a clue that he didn’t particularly care for Aziraphale’s company? The angel had never been very good at reading people. He didn’t know what to do or say in this situation. Perhaps it would be best for him to go back inside and simply wait for Crowley to arrive.

A motion from the corner of his eye caught Aziraphale’s attention. The man had lifted one of his hands and was currently running his fingers through the short hairs at the base of his neck. “Unless…” color rose to his cheeks as the man averted his gaze momentarily. “Well, if you wanted to - that is, I wouldn’t mind the company. If you’ve nothing better to do.”

His stormy eyes went wide. “I didn’t mean that!” the man protested before Aziraphale could formulate a response. “I mean - yes, I meant it. Of course I did. I - “ The man paused, taking a deep breath, holding up a hand to signal he was gathering his thoughts. A small smile graced Aziraphale’s face as he took in just how flustered this human was becoming in his presence. It was rather adorable.

“I realize you likely have many things you could be doing.” The man glanced down at Aziraphale again, tentatively. “I would appreciate the company if you chose to give it.”

Once again, the angel beamed. He held out his hand for the man to take. After a split second, he did, grasping it firmly. The skin was soft and cool against Aziraphale’s palm and he was surprised at the simultaneous strength and comfort in the man’s grip.

“Thomas,” the man identified himself. “Thomas Alby.”

“Ezra,” Aziraphale responded, thankful he’d remembered to use his human name. It was similar enough to his angelic one, but unlike Crowley, the angel had to remember to differentiate when he made his introductions. “Ezra Fell. It is a pleasure to meet you, Thomas.”

The pair shared another smile before Thomas seemed to startle himself into action. With a quick wave of his hand, he beckoned Aziraphale down to the sidewalk and around the corner where a silver pickup truck was parked next to the curb. The bed was covered with a navy blue tarp that Thomas quickly removed to reveal a single fold out table, some slotted shelves, and dozens upon dozens of watercolor paintings.

“Oh my!” Aziraphale exclaimed as he gently picked up one of a quiet lake. It was morning, the sun just peaking over the horizon, turning the clouds a mixture of soft pinks and blues. A gentle mist had settled over the water, wrapping itself around the trees on the opposite bank like a cotton blanket. “These are absolutely lovely, Thomas.”

If he had bothered to look up, Aziraphale might have noticed the blush that was creeping its way up the human’s neck. Aziraphale did not look up. His only had eyes for the paintings and had already moved onto one of a brilliant but terrifying forest fire. The flames seemed to dance across the page, shimmering as he tilted the frame back and forth in his hands. 

After a few moments, the human cleared his throat. Aziraphale nearly dropped the painting in embarrassment. He was supposed to be helping, for goodness sake. Not wasting time admiring the merchandise. “Mind giving me a hand with the table?”

Aziraphale nodded his head vigorously, trying not to blush as Thomas flashed him a knowing smile. “Yes, of course dear boy.”

Working together, it didn’t take them long to set up the table. Thomas then stepped forward and showed Aziraphale how to assemble the pair of slotted shelves. They were about five feet tall and had thin gaps in the wood that allowed for a single print and mat to slide in, allowing a portion of the artwork to be displayed while still permitting the entire collection to be shown. 

One by one, Aziraphale slipped the paintings into the slots, taking a moment to admire each one. The angel smiled as he came across one of a starry night’s sky, looking up from what appeared to be a forest clearing. Ink black trees surrounded the edge of the image, their branches reaching high up into the heavens.

“Do you have a favorite?” Aziraphale asked the man, curiosity seeping into his voice. He’d only looked over a dozen or so and already the angel was infatuated with so many of them. If asked, it would have been impossible for him to choose just one.

Thomas laughed. The sound was deep and warm and brought a smile to Aziraphale’s face. He looked up to find the man smiling down at him, a snowy landscape sitting in his hands.

“Do you have a favorite book?”

Impossible to choose. Aziraphale knew that to be true with all his heart. There were just so many! And each author came at their story with a different perspective - a history that was unlike any of the others. How could he possibly choose a hundred favorites, let alone just one?

Aziraphale chuckled, sliding the next piece of artwork into the empty slot below the previous one. “Asking me for my favorite work of literature is like asking a Meteorologist to pick the most interesting snowflake. They are all wonderful to behold.”

“My point exactly.”

There was a lull in the conversation as both individuals worked to finish placing the last of the images in their proper slots. Finally, Thomas opened up the back door to his vehicle and pulled out a single folded chair.

“Would you like to sit down?” he asked, placing the chair on the opposite side of the table, up against the outer wall of Aziraphale’s bookshop. “I only thought to bring one.”

Aziraphale shook his head. “If I wanted to sit so badly, I could always pop back inside and grab one of my own.” He gestured to the empty seat, looking back up at Thomas who had stopped on this side of the table. “Take it. It’s yours.”

He moved to sit down and Aziraphale used the moment to glance down at his watch again. He still had just over thirty minutes before Crowley was due to show up for brunch. Did he bid the man goodbye now? Should he hang around and wait a little longer? Aziraphale found he was enjoying the human’s company. It had been a while since he’d gone out of his way to befriend one. For the last eleven years, he had been too preoccupied with dealing with the Antichrist to have anything that resembled a social life. 

Was it permissible to interact with the humans now that he had no directive from Heaven to guide them? Could he simply choose to befriend the ones he interacted with on a daily basis without having some ulterior motive to save their souls or put them on the path to righteousness?

“Were you reading anything in particular when I interrupted you?” Thomas asked, pulling out a bottle of water from a bag he’d set down underneath the table in front of him. Wordlessly, he handed it over to Aziraphale before reaching down to retrieve one for himself. “I don’t know what bookshop owners do when they aren’t selling books, but you strike me as someone who enjoys a good story.”

The angel smiled, surprised at how pleased he was that Thomas seemed to understand him so well after less than an hour in each other’s presence. “I was flipping through one of my copies of ‘The Secret Garden’.” He paused, folding his hands together in front of him, suddenly very unsure of what he should be doing with them now that all the paintings had been put in their proper places. “Although, I’m afraid I must admit that I wasn’t so much reading as I was admiring some of the artwork within.”

A small, concentrated frown appeared on Thomas’ face. He reached a hand up to rub the back of his head once more. “Is that the one with the painting of the little girl with the red tassled hat peeking in through an old wooden door?”

Blue eyes widened. Aziraphale felt his heart skip a beat. “You’re familiar with it?” It had been a long time since he’d had anyone with which to discuss literature. Crowley was a wonderful companion and he enjoyed his time with the demon immensely, but he had absolutely no interest when it came to the classics.

Thomas nodded. “My mother used to read it to me when I was younger. I remember sitting on her lap as we swung back and forth on the rocking chair, flipping through all the pages to look at the illustrations.” He beamed, looking up at Aziraphale with that wonderful dimpled smile. “I think that book was one of the reasons I became so interested in art at such a young age.”

Oh, how wonderful! Aziraphale felt his heart soar. He loved hearing stories like these - of inspiration and passion and how a person got from where they were to where they are. He turned to face Thomas, bright blue eyes fixating on the pair of lighter ones.

“Tell me more about your art.”

And thus, the conversation continued. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone. Thanks for all the feedback so far :) I'm excited to hear that you are looking forward to see where this story is going. The rest of the week seems to be a quiet one for me, so hopefully I'll be updating this story a bit quicker than originally planned. At least, for now.
> 
> If you're enjoying the story so far, feel free to let me know! See you all again very soon.


	4. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley stops by the bookshop to pick up Aziraphale for brunch.

Crowley walked straight into the bookshop without pausing to wonder if the lock would bother to keep him out. He paid no mind to it, so in return, the lock paid no mind to him. His hand brushed up against the doorknob and with a gentle click, the door swung wide open.

“Angel!” Crowley called out into the dusty, cluttered bookshop. He’d once asked Aziraphale why he never bothered to miracle the dust away. Apparently, according to the angel, the thin layer of dirt and grime added to the aesthetics of an antique bookshop. He kept it around to enhance the atmosphere.

What a load of bollocks. Crowley knew, though he would never tell the angel otherwise, that Aziraphale rarely cleaned because he thought the dust made customers less likely to linger. The less time they spent in his shop, the fewer books they would consider buying.

“Angel, I’ve got the car ready and waiting!” There was no response. Usually Aziraphale was quick to call back to him. Even if he was tucked away in one of the back rooms, the angel could hear Crowley. Was he ignoring the demon? So wrapped up in his task he wasn’t paying attention?

“Aziraphale, where the bloody hell are you?”

The words tumbled from his lips and panic seized at Crowley’s chest. For the briefest instant, he was surrounded once more by smoke and flames, calling out for his best friend who was no longer there. He could feel the heat blazing about him, heart breaking in his chest, voice screaming until it was so hoarse barely a sound came out.

He reached out, something he hadn’t done in months, and felt for the angel. Crowley couldn’t remember when he realized they had this ability. He could sense any eternal being - ethereal or occult - given enough focus. With most, it was like looking for something he’d lost in the dark. If he squinted and gave his eyes time to adjust, eventually the demon would be able to detect them. 

Aziraphale was a bloody lighthouse beacon. He shone so brilliantly that Crowley was drawn to him without having to do anything. In an instant, he could know the angel’s exact location, whether he was in a church, getting double crossed by Nazis or if he had hopped across the canal to grab a quick bite of lunch during a revolution. All he had to do was close his eyes and he would know where his angel was.

Even still, Crowley hesitated for the briefest of seconds, heart hammering away inside his chest. What if something had happened? What if Aziraphale was  _ gone _ , just like the last time? There was no sign of struggle. No hint of burning sulphur in the air. Aziraphale was  _ fine.  _ He had to be. Crowley wouldn’t be able to survive it if he wasn’t.

“What the…?” Crowley trailed off, his eyes instantly flickering toward the window on his left as he felt the all-familiar warmth that only Aziraphale could produce. What in the world was the angel doing, standing outside by himself?

Crowley made a beeline for the window, throwing it open before he had a chance to think anything through.

“Oi!” The demon shouted, sticking his head through the opening. Aziraphale was standing on the walkway up against the side of the building. He had his back toward Crowley and did not turn around as the demon’s voice floated down toward him. “Angel, what the Heaven are you doing? I thought we had plans.”

Only then did he notice the human sitting beside him. 

Aziraphale looked up, fixing his bright blue eyes on Crowley’s face and beamed. The smile was so wide, so bright, it lit up the angel’s entire face. He seemed to glow with delight as his entire body turned around to face Crowley. The sight of it took Crowley’s breath away.

“Crowley!” He exclaimed, reaching into the small pocket on his tan vest to fish out his ridiculous, old-fashioned watch. Why he didn’t just purchase a normal one that sat on his wrist, Crowley would never understand. “Goodness gracious, is it ten o’clock already? So sorry to keep you waiting, dear boy.”

The demon shrugged, top half hanging out the window as he talked to Aziraphale. Behind the disguise of black shaded glasses, Crowley allowed his eyes to drift upward to the human Aziraphale had been conversing with. He was fairly uninteresting, as far as humans went. Not all unappealing to look at except for that ridiculous sweater. And his stupid soft smile. And intense, stormy eyes.

Why the fuck was Aziraphale talking to this guy anyway? And what was up with all the paintings? Who took the time on a Sunday morning to sell paintings on the side of the road?

“Buying some new art for the bookshop?” the demon asked, shoving his hands into the tight pockets of his black jeans. By all logic, they shouldn’t have fit, but Crowley’s clothes knew better than to disobey a direct order.

The angel shook his head. “Not at the moment.” Crowley watched as Aziraphale turned back toward the human, flashing him some sort of look the demon had not been privy to. From this angle, he could only see the back of the angel’s blonde curls. Based on the wide smile that appeared on the human’s face, he guessed Aziraphale had smiled at him. Perhaps flashed him a look of fondness or admiration for his talent.

Crowley felt his stomach twist unpleasantly inside him. 

Aziraphale turned around once more, fixing his gentle gaze on Crowley. There were moments, spread out over the years where he felt as if the angel could see right through him. Where he fixed Crowley with such a gaze that he was sure, without a doubt, that the glasses perched on the bridge of his nose gave him no protection.

Thankfully, this was not one of those times.

“What are you doing still hanging out of the window, dear boy?” Aziraphale asked him, reaching up to give him a wave. “Come out here and introduce yourself to my new friend.”

A frown appeared on the demon’s face at the word ‘friend’. How easily it had fallen from Aziraphale’s tongue. Did that pretty-boy human know how fucking fortunate he was? Did he realize that it had taken the angel six-thousand years to finally admit to himself that he and Crowley were friends? How long had Aziraphale even known this loser? 

“Yeah,” he muttered, glancing down at his feet for something to stand on. Luckily for Crowley, the angel was a collector, of sorts. A box of books was always an arm’s reach away whenever he needed one. It happened more often than he cared to admit. “Sure, angel. Just give me a moment.”

Aziraphale realized what he was about to do exactly three seconds after Crowley swung his leg over the windowsill. The demon smirked as those blue eyes went wide.

“Good Heavens, Crowley, what on earth are you doing?”

Again, the demon smiled, swinging his other leg over the edge before he leapt off, landing squarely on the sidewalk below. Without a word, he stood up, brushing the imaginary dust from his trousers before turning to face Aziraphale. The angel simply shook his head in mock exasperation. 

“Come now,” he teased, amber eyes glinting with amusement behind the black lenses. “You and I both know there is nothing good about Heaven.”

Aziraphale huffed and rolled his eyes, reaching out a hand to beckon Crowley closer. The demon lifted his eyes and fixed his obscured gaze on the human manning the art stand. He’d risen to his feet and was already moving to stand closer to Aziraphale.

_ Not on my watch. _

Crowley sauntered forward, blatantly holding his elbow out for Aziraphale to take. The angel smiled up at him and in one fluid motion had slipped his hand gently onto Crowley’s forearm. Grinning, the demon stuck out his free hand toward the human who had stopped a few steps away.

“Anthony J. Crowley.” He offered no further introduction than this as the human took his hand willingly. Crowley gritted his teeth. The man had balls, he’d give him that much. “I’m Ezra’s oldest and  _ dearest  _ friend.”

Amber eyes flickered down and Crowley’s heart leapt as the angel squeezed his arm gently. The demon replied with a soft smirk. As if he would forget to use Aziraphale’s human name. He wasn’t an amature. 

“Thomas Alby,” the man responded with a surprisingly firm grip. Crowley’s eyebrows raised ever so slightly. “I suppose you could call me Ezra’s newest friend. We just met this morning.”

This morning? The demon’s eyes narrowed. How dare he. This human had better learn his place, and quickly. Crowley didn’t have time to go chasing off every being that found him or herself besotted over the angel. 

“Weeeelllll…” the demon drawled out as he placed a hand firmly over Aziraphale’s, “we’d best be going, or we’ll be late for our reservation.” He began steering them away from the makeshift stand as fast as his legs would allow him to without seeming too eager to get away. “Pleasure meeting you.”

It had not been a pleasure, but Crowley wasn’t about to be rude to the man’s face. Especially not if Aziraphale actually considered him a friend. They’d been on earth since the beginning, and for the first several thousand years angel and demon hadn’t exactly spoken to each other every day. Crowley and Aziraphale had both had their share of acquaintances and even friends over the years. Less so, once Armageddon had begun, but now that it was over, he supposed there was nothing wrong with the angel making new friends.

Crowley knew he would always hold a special place in Aziraphale’s heart. They’d been through the end of the world together. Surely, that had to be enough. 

“Are you sure that bloke wasn’t bothering you?” Crowley asked softly as he opened the door for Aziraphale, heart clenching as the angel’s arm slipped from his. “I could leave behind a little curse. Nothing dangerous. Just something annoying and inconvenient. What a tragedy it would be for him to suddenly find he set up his art stand on top of an ant’s nest.”

Aziraphale’s mouth widened in shock, brows furrowing together as he swatted at the demon. Crowley jumped back with a grin and hurried around to the other side of the car, slipping easily into the driver’s seat.

“You will do no such thing,” the angel commanded. He huffed, folding his arms across his chest. “I happen to like this one. He’s a very talented artist and quite the conversationalist. You’d do well to keep your wiles far away from him.”

A deep chuckle escaped the demon’s lips. He reached down and put the car into drive, pulling quickly away from the curb. “Alright, angel. But if he does so much as looks at you the wrong way, I’ll bring the wrath of Hell upon him.”

Aziraphale rolled his eyes. “I am perfectly capable of looking after myself, Crowley.” The softness in his voice was not lost on Crowley. It should have made him feel better about the whole situation. Aziraphale was here, with him. He’d chosen to take time out of his day to spend it with Crowley. He had left the human behind to have brunch with  _ Crowley. _ Just as they had planned. There was absolutely no reason for him to worry.

Still, as the Bentley raced down the streets of London at a speed much too fast to be possible, Crowley had to wonder. Exactly how much trouble would he be in if he took the time to wipe that wide, stupid grin off that pretty-boy’s hopeful face? 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you all are enjoying the story so far. Comments and kudos are always welcome <3 Reading them is the best part of my day.


	5. Interlude: Heaven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gabriel calls a meeting to discuss Heaven's next steps.

Gabriel was the last of the Archangels to arrive.

Five other ethereal figures turned to face him as the wide double doors burst open around him. With a wave of his hand, a bleached white table with glass surface materialized in the once empty room. Each archangel took their proper seat with Gabriel at the front, the tall back of his office chair towering over the others.

No one said a word. All five sets of eyes were glued on his face, waiting for the Head Archangel to begin.

“Right,” Gabriel’s voice echoed off the vaulted ceiling. “You all know why we’re here. Who has something to report?”

Sandalphon shifted in the seat to his right but did not open his mouth to speak. Uriel, to his other side, lowered her eyes to avoid his gaze. Michael didn’t even bother pretending to sort through their notes, turning to look at the other two Archangels across the table: Barachiel and Remiel.

“Nothing?” Gabriel allowed some of his irritation seep into his voice. How many angels had they sent down to earth for this specific purpose? After six months of continual searching, how had they still not come up with anything useful?

His violet eyes swept over them all, lingering momentarily on the single empty chair at the opposite end of the table, before finally coming to rest on Barachiel’s tall, thin frame. The other Archangel stared straight ahead, dark brown eyes flat and uninterested. Without even a glance in Gabriel’s direction, he reached a hand up to pull his long ebony hair to one side of his neck. The Head Archangel narrowed his eyes, but let the action pass. For now. 

A less than soft sigh escaped his lips. Gabriel turned his attention to Remiel, seated directly beside the empty chair, the only one close enough to touch it. She was gazing up at him with a small smile on her face, dark eyes reflecting the heavenly light that shone all around them. As much as he may not want to admit it, she was his last hope. 

“Please, tell me you have something Remiel.”

The smaller Archangel smiled. “Perhaps. Though I don’t know how useful it will be.”

At this point, Gabriel would have given his pair of wings for something he could use - anything that would help him get things back on track. The entirety of Heaven had rallied for Armageddon and had front row seats when the Great Plan had been foiled by a pair of bumbling idiots and their human side-kicks. Gabriel’s blood boiled at the memory. 

“I’m waiting,” the Archangel hissed, violet eyes flashing with irritation. Any other angel would have cowered in his presence. Even some of the other Archangels at this very table would have been made anxious under a look like that. Remiel simply held his gaze, pretending as if she hadn’t heard him. The angel would tell him what she knew, all of it, but only in her own time. 

“You know, Gabriel,” she began, cropped black hair swinging as she turned her head toward the door opposite where the Head Archangel had come in. “I wasn’t the one who made the discovery. Your information would be a lot more accurate if you heard it from the primary source.”

The Archangel glowered. These meetings were supposed to be for Archangels only. There was no telling what would happen if the rest of Heaven found out what they were trying to do. Why must Remiel always insist on doing things her way?

Sensing his hesitation, the Archangel lifted her hand to touch the seat beside her. “There’s even a place for him to sit.”

Beside her, Barachiel snorted. “You’d better not let Azrael hear you say that.”

Remiel turned to her neighbor, eyes narrowed. Gabriel tried to stifle his satisfied smile. He always got a twisted sort of pleasure watching the two of them interact. Leaning back against his chair, the Archangel folded his hands across his lap and waited for the outburst. When Remiel and Barachiel interacted, even the stars in the far off reaches of the universe weren’t safe. 

“Azrael isn’t  _ here _ ,” she growled, teeth clenched, turning in her chair to fix her dark eyes on Barachiel’s face. He smiled sweetly at her, bushy eyebrows raised in mock interest. “Azrael has never been here. For any of this. What makes you think they are going to show up now?”

The other Archangel shrugged, running a hand lightly over his neatly trimmed beard simply because he knew the motion irritated her. Gabriel clenched his hands in anticipation. He glanced over at Sandalphon who was currently leaning forward in his chair, trying to get a better look at Remiel’s face on the other side of Barachiel’s body. Uriel shot him a look of amusement. All eyes were on the pair, waiting breathlessly for what came next.

Gabriel did not gamble, but if he did, his money would be on Remiel this time. His money was almost always on Remiel.

“You know as well as I, _Remiel_,” he spoke her name as if talking to a child. She smiled back at him, fist clenching, brown eyes flashing with a lot more than just irritation. “Azrael is welcome here, always. I’m sure you don’t want to be the one to find out what happens if they do show up and find some lesser ranked angel in the seat of honor, do you?”

Remiel’s eyes narrowed, but she said nothing. Turning back toward him, she reached into the pocket of her white robe and pulled out a single folded sheet of paper. With a wave of her hand the parchment floated up to the other end of the table, fluttering around like it was riding on a gentle breeze. Gabriel reached out his hand and grabbed onto it right before it drifted up and over his head. With a final pointed look at Remiel, the Head Archangel brought the page down in front of him.

His eyes went wide.

Before him was a set of two hand drawn images, one on top of the other. The page was old, likely created several thousand years ago, although it had been kept in pristine condition. On top, the author had drawn a depiction of several men and a demon. Two of the humans stood beside the creature, restraining it, forcing it down on its knees. The third one stood at the demon’s head, a blade of golden fire in its hands. In the picture, the blade was on its way downward, but to Gabriel’s surprise, its trajectory was not the demon’s head, but his outstretched wings.

Quickly, the Archangel’s gaze fell to the picture below. The same demon was the central focus of this one, although it looked different - more...human, somehow. In the first image, the demon had been given a set of horns and a pair of black, scraggly wings. Its eyes had burned red and displayed sharp teeth and claws.

This image, the creature looked entirely human. No wings, no horns, no teeth or claws. It was dressed in a plain brown tunic and breeches and appeared to be working in some kind of simple thatched roof home. Not a demonic trait in sight.

“What is this?” Gabriel heard himself whisper. He’d never seen anything like it. This had to be some sort of joke. A legend humans made up to comfort themselves in times when they believed in things such as Heaven and Hell and actually noticed the demons that roamed the earth. 

Quickly, he turned the page over. There was writing on the other side - not in English, but that didn’t matter. Gabriel could read all languages, given enough focus. If he’d had a heart, it would have started to beat faster in his chest as his violet eyes scanned line after line. Eyes wide, he looked back up at Remiel.

“Bring him in here.” There was no point in him wasting their time further for some established custom. Not if this was what he thought it was. “Now.”

Remiel barely had to wave her hand before the door opened and a young looking angel flew into the room. Of course, age didn’t matter - they had all been here since the beginning. The new angel wore a long white robe, similar to Remiel’s and had his soft brown hair tied up in a braid that came to a spiral at the back of his head.

Before the angel could approach, Remiel’s hand flew out suddenly from under her long white sleeve. A startled shout came from the seat next to her as it spun around rapidly and launched the unsuspecting Barachiel into the air. He landed against the cold tile floor several feet away. Remiel turned toward the new angel, smile much kinder than it had been before. 

“I saved you a seat, Amariel.”

Without another word, the angel moved to sit beside her. Gabriel smirked as he heard muffled laughter from both the angels to his left. He’d bet on the right angel after all.

“Explain this,” Gabriel commanded, noticing how the golden markings on this angel’s face seemed to glisten brightly against his tan skin as he turned his head to look around. The angel’s green eyes landed on Gabriel, taking in the image that was now being shown to him. Behind them, Barachiel stood up and walked forward to position himself on the other side of the table, standing behind Michael, eyes never once leaving Remiel’s face. 

“I found that page on one of the shelves in his bookshop,” the angel, Amariel, explained, no hesitation in his voice. Not even the smallest waiver of awe or fear at being surrounded by six of Heaven's seven Archangels. “It was located in a book detailing ways to dispose of demons and other ghastly spirits. Most of the chapters were on exorcisms or banishments, but there was a short record of a group of humans who used a sword to cut off a demon’s wings, removing its otherworldly powers.”

Gabriel nodded. He had thought as much. The image at the bottom of the page suggested that the creature had nothing left of its demonic life. It was living as any normal human would, blissfully unaware of whatever heinous deeds it had done before.

“Will this only work on demons?”

The question hung in the air around them. Every being in the room stilled. They all knew why they were here. Even Amariel was aware of what they were trying to accomplish. He had to, after day after day after day of research. Still, the thought was unpleasant at best. What they were after had never been done before, yet it was necessary. Heaven must move forward with the Great Plan. They had to be the ones to triumph in the final battle.

And no demon or angel, no matter how completely and utterly incompetent, was going to stand in their way this time.

Sensing the underlying question, Amariel responded. His eyes never once left Gabriel’s face. “I would imagine the sword would work just as well on a celestial being. We are of the same original stock, after all.”

Gabriel nodded, the wheels were already turning in his mind. How would they go about doing this, exactly? Several of them would have to pop down to earth in order to carry out the task. They would have to be quick about it - make sure none of Hell’s operatives got in the way. The Archangel didn’t think they would. Beelzebub had been just as embarrassed as he had at the complete failure Armageddon had been. Surely, they would welcome any attempt Gabriel had at correcting the situation. Perhaps they would even let the Archangels test out their theory on that annoying serpent.

“It should work,” Amariel continued when his audience said nothing. “But you’d need to find the sword first. No one’s seen it since the Beginning.”

A sly smile worked its way onto Gabriel’s face as he studied the picture once more. “Oh,” he murmured, not really talking to anyone but himself, even if he knew they could hear him, “I have an idea where it might have ended up.”

He had seen it, of course, just six months ago on an Airbase in a small English town called Tadfield. Gabriel was sure the sword hadn’t just been left lying around. Someone had picked it up and put it somewhere safe. All he had to do was figure out who.

Without another word, Gabriel was on his feet. A millisecond later and they were rising with him. “Michael, head downstairs and see what our counterparts think of this. Uriel, start forming a team to investigate the airbase. Remiel and Barachiel, you track down each and every one of those humans that was there that day. I want to know where they live, what they do for work, their favorite pair of pajamas, what they eat for breakfast. I want to know everything. Understand?”

No one responded, but they all understood. In the blink of an eye they were gone and Gabriel was left in a wide white room with an empty table apart from Sandalphon and the younger angel. He was still looking up at Gabriel, standing this time, his wings hanging softly beside him.

“There is something else you should know, sir.”

_ Sir.  _ Gabriel felt something swell inside his chest. Perhaps he should think about using this angel as an informant more often. Amariel didn’t even have to wait to be prompted. He simply plunged in with the information.

“The serpent spends a lot of time in that bookshop.” This should have come as a surprise to Gabriel. Angels and demons were hereditary enemies, and yet  _ he _ had always seemed far too comfortable with them. Particularly with the Serpent of Eden. “They talk. I didn’t have an opportunity to overhear without the chance of being discovered, but from what I could tell, I don’t think they are quite the adversaries he may have lead you to believe. If I didn’t know any better -” the angel paused, looking away for the first time, fists clenching and unclenching at his side. 

“If I didn’t know any better, I would have assumed they were friends.”

In an instant, his violet eyes had darkened a shade as Gabriel’s teeth clenched together. He forced himself to remain calm, forced himself to look the lower angel in the eyes and give a rather displeased smile.

“Well, isn’t that just ‘Tickety-boo’.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And now we get a look at what Heaven is up to :o Things are starting to get interesting...


	6. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale runs into Thomas again later in the week while he is out and about.

On Wednesdays, Aziraphale went grocery shopping.

He didn’t have to go shopping. The angel could have miracled into existence all the food he needed. Technically, he didn’t need any food at all, but having a small pantry full of snacks made him feel comfortable and he wouldn’t know what to do without his stash of hot cocoa. Making it by hand was more effort, but his evenings wouldn’t be the same if he chose to do anything else.

The morning was much chillier than he had expected it to be. Autumn had descended upon them full force and even though the afternoon was supposed to be lovely, the early London morning air was more cold than crisp. Aziraphale found himself shivering as he walked, wishing he had thought to bring his overcoat and tartan scarf. 

One foot, then the next, moving ever faster as a gust of wind blew down the streets. Perhaps it would be best if he miracled himself back to the bookshop to retrieve his coat. Or better yet, miracle his coat to himself. 

Six months had passed since he and Crowley had swapped places to avoid their punishment. Six months of radio silence from Heaven and The Almighty. Aziraphale had performed miracles since then, but each time they’d been necessary - always for the humans and never for himself. He loathed how his stomach twisted in knots and his heart got all bunched up and he felt like he was going to pass out. 

Aziraphale had spent his whole life in fear of Heaven. Even after the end of the world, he couldn’t seem to shake it.

Perhaps it was the fact that the angel’s mind was too preoccupied to pay attention to where he was going. Perhaps he was just in the wrong place at the wrong time. Perhaps the corner he was about to round had a perfectly legitimate blindspot that anyone could have fallen into. However it came to be, Aziraphale rounded the corner up ahead and ran directly into another human walking toward him, sending the man’s bags tumbling to the ground.

“Oh, goodness!” Aziraphale exclaimed, reaching a hand out reflexively to grab onto the man’s arm to prevent him from falling. The merchandise may have been lost, but certainly the angel had enough good will within him to prevent the human any further harm. “I do apologize, my dear boy. I wasn’t paying nearly enough attention to where I was going.”

He stooped down to pick up the bags, blue eyes sweeping over the man’s dark grey pants and black dress shoes. A laugh sounded in his ears and Aziraphale looked up, startled.

“Fancy running into you here, Ezra.”

It was Thomas! Aziraphale’s heart soared. He hadn’t seen the man since Crowley had dropped him back off at the bookshop after their brunch the previous weekend. The angel had been disappointed to find out that the art stand seemed to be a one time thing. Monday came and went without a single sighting of the man. Tuesday brought much of the same. Aziraphale had enjoyed his time conversing with Thomas and had told him to stop by the bookshop whenever he wanted. Immediately going two days back to back without even a call had worried the angel. Perhaps Thomas hadn’t enjoyed his company as much as Aziraphale originally thought.

He was smiling now, which was probably a good sign. Aziraphale stood up, his displeasure at the cold momentarily forgotten. “I am terribly sorry about this, Thomas,” the angel began, trying not to seem too eager - too filled with joy at the chance of seeing the man again. “I suppose my thoughts must have been elsewhere.” 

The bag in his arms started to grow heavy. Aziraphale shifted it from one arm to the other. Upon noticing the movement, Thomas’ blue-grey eyes widened. He took a step forward, hands reaching out to take the bag back from Aziraphale, but the angel shifted it away from him.

“Nonsense, my boy. The least I can do is carry your bags for you a little ways. I did almost run you over after all.”

Thomas smiled. Wide and bright and altogether wonderful. Aziraphale couldn’t help but smile back. “Well,” the man began after a moment, dimples still visible on his face. “If you insist on being my pack mule for the morning, I insist we stop by there first.”

Aziraphale followed his gaze across the street to a small cafe tucked between two larger buildings. Warmth spread through his entire being, starting in his chest and spreading outward to the tips of his fingers. 

“Oh, how splendid,” the angel chorused, unable to help himself. “I could do with a spot of tea right now. Excellent idea.”

Both beings carefully made their way across the street, waiting for a break in traffic before taking their first steps. While still an angel to his very core, Aziraphale was not in any hurry to be forcibly directed back to Heaven. A discorporation at this point would be a nightmare. Would Gabriel even give him another body after everything that had happened? Best to stick with this one. He happened to like it, anyway, despite the apparent softness. Aziraphale figured it rather suited him. 

“Why don’t you grab a seat?” Thomas asked as they ducked into the tiny shop. There weren’t many available. One small wooden table sat by the wall to their right, tucked between several other tables that were already at full capacity. A chair was already missing from it, and although he was sure he could miraculously find another one, Aziraphale figured that wasn’t the best use of his abilities.

Another table was open to his left. It was shorter and surrounded by a single small couch, rather than chairs. A bit cozy, but better than standing, or worse - drinking their tea outside in the cold. Without another thought, the angel began to weave his way through the crowd of people, stepping behind chairs and over laptop cords that had been plugged into outlets on the floor. He was careful, gripping the brown paper bag gently, but firm. It wouldn’t do to drop it all over again.

Once seated, Aziraphale took a moment to look around the shop. It was cute, in a rustic sort of way, with a chalkboard menu and large wooden beams that ran across the ceiling. The walls were covered with photographs of various locations around London, placed in small frames no bigger than a normal dinner plate. Without meaning to, Aziraphale found himself looking from one to the other, mentally ranking them as he went.

“You can place that on the floor, Ezra,” Thomas’ voice broke through his thoughts, bringing the angel back to reality. “It’s nothing breakable or anything. Just some art supplies. Brushes and paint and the like.” The man grinned as he took a seat on the couch beside Aziraphale. The angel nearly jumped as their knees brushed together for the briefest of moments as Thomas got comfortable. “You certainly don’t have to sit there like you’re going to guard the bag with your life. It’s hardly worth all the trouble.”

Despite his initial nervousness, Aziraphale chuckled at this. What a ridiculous notion, risking himself for a few bottles of paint and some wooden sticks. Slowly, he placed it down on the floor, tucked underneath their small table. Just because the contents weren’t worth risking his life for didn’t mean Aziraphale had any right to treat the items with disdain. Thomas had bought them, after all, and was likely planning on using them for his artwork. What kind of friend would he be if he threw them haphazardly all over the floor.

“Is your painting going well?” Aziraphale asked curiously, turning to fix his eyes on Thomas. The man turned his body toward the angel once more, knees brushing again as he did so. There was no real way to sit on this couch without touching one way or another. Either they sat facing forward letting their shoulders brush or they faced each other and the contact came in through their knees.

Aziraphale found he liked the option to see Thomas’ face much better.

“The selling of it, I mean,” the angel clarified, wondering why he was feeling so warm all of a sudden. It had been quite cold outside. And there were quite a lot of people here for such a small cafe. The combination of the two elements were likely to cause a rise in temperature. That had to be the reason.

“It went as well as I would have expected,” he responded, raising a hand to flag down the barista when his name was called. “I sold five or six of them, I think? And was able to give out my card to a few more people, so there’s a chance one or two of them might commission me to paint something.” He smiled softly, holding out one drink in either hand. “Earl Grey or English Breakfast? I didn’t think to ask you which kind you preferred.”

Aziraphale’s eyes went wide. He’d been so preoccupied with finding a seat and safeguarding the bags he’d already dropped that the angel hadn’t even realized his new friend was purchasing him a drink.  _ After _ he’d nearly knocked the man over. 

What was wrong with him today?

“Oh,” he struggled to find the words to say. “Thomas, dear, you didn’t have to do that. I feel as if I should be purchasing your drink after running into you like that so haphazardly. It was really rather careless of me.”

Thomas laughed, flashing him a fond smile. His hands remained outstretched in front of him, fingers curled around the cardboard cups, waiting. Aziraphale reached forward and took the Earl Grey, suppressing a small shiver as their fingers accidentally brushed. 

“I seriously cannot get over how polite and proper you are, Ezra.” He took a sip of the steaming liquid, barely batting an eye as the heat flooded his mouth. Aziraphale, on the other hand, removed the top and began to blow, watching as the steam billowed up and away from him. His eyes fell to his hand, willing it to remain steady. Staining his favorite pants would be an absolute nightmare. “It’s adorable. And refreshing.”

Aziraphale froze, blue eyes widening ever so slightly. He avoided looking up at Thomas in that moment, choosing to study the way the teabag in his cup rested up against the bottom rim, folding slightly in on itself, the water surrounding it a shade darker than all the rest. Hesitantly, the angel lifted his hand to move it around some, stirring up the liquid as he went.

“So,” Thomas began after a moment’s hesitation. “What were you thinking about that had you so distracted that you didn’t notice me?” Aziraphale looked up, happy that the conversation had drifted away from his sometimes endearing traits. It wasn’t that the angel was opposed to compliments or that he was upset that Thomas thought he was adorable. As an immortal being, he had to be careful. Humans lived such short lives. Any relationship he began with them always had to end, and most times rather quickly. After five or ten years, people started to notice he didn’t seem to age. Thomas seemed like a very nice man. Aziraphale would hate to see him get hurt.

And, well, the angel had already given his heart to someone else.

The man grinned and Aziraphale felt his stomach begin to do somersaults. “Would it be arrogant to hope you might have been thinking about me?”

His heart skipped a beat, smile fading for a brief instant. Had he been thinking about Thomas? Aziraphale tried to remember. He’d been debating whether to miracle up his coat, reflecting on the lack of communication from Heaven. And then what? He remembered having thoughts about Thomas at some point that morning. Had that been before or after he’d almost knocked the man over?

“Ezra.” The angel looked up and found Thomas gazing at him with concern in his eyes. “I was teasing.”

Aziraphale nodded, slipping the lid back on his cup. He offered Thomas a gentle smile and took a small swig, sighing in content as the warm liquid rushed down his throat. “To be honest, I don’t remember what had me so distracted.” He paused, realizing he couldn’t exactly talk to Thomas about any of his thoughts other than one.

“I suppose,” he continued, not wanting the conversation to end here, “I  _ was _ wondering if you were planning on swinging by at some point. I rather enjoyed our conversation on Sunday and was hoping for a repeat.”

There. That wasn’t too forward, was it? 

Thomas grinned, placing his drink down on the table in front of them, making sure the coaster was secure before it made contact. “I would definitely love to visit again, Ezra. I was actually planning on coming by this weekend. To be honest,” he paused, reaching a hand up to rub the back of his neck, eyes glancing away for a moment. “I wanted to come by earlier this week. To see you again. I just didn’t have the time. My work keeps me very busy.”

A frown appeared on Aziraphale’s face. “Your painting?” He supposed it would take a lot of time to create works as beautiful as the ones he had seen earlier. Still, did Thomas have no free time to take a break?

The man shook his head. “Painting is my side job, Ezra. I work full time as a chef. At The Ivy.”

In that moment, Aziraphale felt his mouth fall open. The Ivy? He loved that restaurant! It wasn’t the Ritz, but he and Crowley frequented the establishment at least once every few months. They had the most splendid dover sole. And the pavlova was to die for. 

“You’ve heard of it?” He sounded a bit hopeful, and perhaps slightly nervous.

“Of course!” Aziraphale asserted. “Crowley and I have been there on many occasions. I am quite a fan of the pavlova.”

Thomas held out a hand and gave a slight bow. “Desserts are my specialty.”

What a wondrous coincidence! Aziraphale had developed quite a taste for fine dining over the years, especially in the time he’d lived in London. One of his favorite pastimes was to go out to eat, often dragging Crowley along for the adventure. What were the odds that such a talented, intelligent person also cooked amazing food on a daily basis? Thomas was amazing, there was no doubt about it.

“Would you…” the man twisted in his seat again, lightly brushing his knee against Aziraphale’s once more. The angel felt a light blush rising to his cheeks, the drink sitting warmly in between his hands. “Would you be interested in coming to a private tasting next weekend? We’re trying out some potential new menu items. It sounds like you would be a great addition to our trial.”

Aziraphale beamed. How thoughtful, and exciting too. “I’d be delighted.”

Thomas reached down and brought the cup to his lips, taking another long drink before bringing his eyes back to Aziraphale’s face. The smile he gave the angel was so bright it nearly took Aziraphale’s breath away. 

“It’s a date.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was a little later in posting this than I wanted to today, so sorry about that. Still, my original promise was once or twice a week, so I have to say I'm doing pretty well on update times so far.
> 
> We'll be introducing some more beloved characters next chapter, so I hope you all stick around. Feel free to leave a comment and let me know what you think so far!


	7. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley travels to Tadfield to find some backup.

The Bentley roared down the streets of central London much faster than ninety miles an hour. Aziraphale wasn’t with him, so Crowley felt no need to hold back. He punched the gas, swerving around one car after the other, heading for the M25. He was a demon on a mission, and nothing was going to get in his way. Not today.

“Stupid blasted angel,” Crowley muttered to himself as he took a hard left and rushed onto the interstate. “Honestly, how can someone as clever as him be so  _ stupid _ ?”

This wasn’t the first time those words had slipped from Crowley’s lips, and he was sure it wouldn’t be the last. Everything had been going just fine until that blasted Thomas had showed up. They’d had a routine going. A new sort of arrangement. They dined together, and went to museums and the theater and always ended the evening back at Aziraphale’s bookshop. Not every day, but most days. They were friends - good friends. Perhaps even the best of friends, although the angel had yet to say it out loud.

Everything had been going just fine until this week. That bloody human had showed his face and suddenly Aziraphale was besotted. Thomas is a wonderful artist. Thomas reads classic literature.  _ Thomas  _ knows how to bake crepes.

The demon glowered. Just who was this pretty-boy anyway and where did he get off trying to steal Crowley’s angel away? He had no idea who he was dealing with. Crowley would show him. He’d show this nothing of a human just who Anthony J. Crowley was and then he’d never show his face again. 

He was going to do all that. Right after Crowley figured out just who this Thomas Alby character was. No point in going to war with someone unless the proper research had been done first. Aziraphale was too important a prize to be taking any risks here. Crowley had to be thorough.

And that was the issue, wasn’t it? Crowley was no expert private investigator, but he knew his way around the internet fairly well. After nearly two days of searching, while Aziraphale was out and about doing who knows what with that  _ theif _ , Crowley had discovered nothing. There was not a single internet article about the man. No embarrassing high school photos. No self-built website where he sold his stupid art. Not even a single write up about his job as a chef. It was like the man didn’t exist.

This wouldn’t do. Crowley had decided it was time to call in backup.

Which was why, early on Saturday morning, he was racing down the M25 toward Tadfield.

Book-Girl would know what to do. She was one of those witchy types, wasn’t she? The one with all the prophecies from before. Surely she could handle doing a single background check on some nobody of a human.

The demon gritted his teeth as he sped down the motorway. At least during this hour of the morning, there weren’t enough cars to cause a complete gridlock. He made it to Tadfield in record time.

Book-Girl’s boyfriend was sitting on the porch when he arrived, thumbing through the newspaper. He looked up in alarm as Crowley pulled the Bentley to a screeching halt, applying his foot to the breaks for the first time that morning. In an instant, the demon was out of the car and stalking his way over toward the front door.

“Oh,” the man said after a brief moment, eyebrows furrowing in concentration. “It’s you. I remember you, I think.” He paused, the look on his face not at all confident in his previous statement. “Where is it I know you from?”

Crowley huffed. He didn’t have time for this. “Right. Yeah, we’ve met. End of the world and all that jazz. Is your lady friend here? I’d quite like to have a word with her.”

His eyed widened. “Anathema?”

So, that was her name. “Yes, Book-Girl. Anathema.” He tried the name out on his tongue, letting it settle into the air around him. Anathema. He should probably try to remember that one. He may need her help some time in the future. 

“It’s rather urgent, if you don’t mind.”

The man jumped to his feet, tossing the paper haphazardly down onto the chair. Crowley watched as some of the pages drifted lightly to the ground. He didn’t bother to pick them up, but the demon did manage to help them get snagged around the white post nearby as a gentle breeze attempted to steal them away. 

“You can come in,” the man began, a bit of hesitancy slipping into his voice “if you’d like.” Crowley glowered. He didn’t have time for this. What if Aziraphale and that human had  _ plans  _ later today _ ? _ What if something went wrong and he wasn’t there to help? What if all of it was just some giant act and that pretty-boy was actually some kind of serial killer? Sure, Aziraphale wouldn’t actually  _ die, _ but he’d be discorporated. And the state of things between him and Heaven weren’t all that great at the moment. Crowley didn’t know how long it would take the angel to get back to him.

The thought of Aziraphale gone from Earth for any extended amount of time made his heart ache.

Crowley took a few steps forward to follow the man into the house. He walked with purpose, amber eyes fixed on the doorway behind his black shades. The sound of gravel kicking up under his heels reached the demon’s ears as he crossed the rest of the distance from his car to the front porch.

In an instant,before he even realized what was happening, Crowley was on the ground, crying out as pain filled his body, burning through his veins like he imagined acid or perhaps even holy water might feel like. His surroundings faded into nothing as his sight vanished. Tears flooded his cheeks as his entire body convulsed, his throat burning with the force of his screams.

Using all of the brainpower he had left, the demon scrambled back, panting as he tried to catch the breath that he didn’t need, miracle at the ready as he blinked his eyes, trying to clear them, listening for any sign or sound of danger approaching.

“Anathema!” Crowley heard the other man’s voice call out. “Anathema, you need to come outside! We have a situation.”

He sounded afraid, which made absolutely no sense since Crowley was fairly certain he was the one who was dying. Spots of color were returning to the blackness that was currently his vision, but even if he could see anything, the demon was sure it wouldn’t matter. His entire body was trembling, lungs still gasping for air. Trying to stand was impossible. He couldn’t even manage to move his arms to hoist himself up.

“Oh my god, Newton, what happened?”

Crowley blinked again. With each motion of his eyelid, the images in front of him got a bit clearer. Book Girl - Anathema - had made an appearance and was hurrying over to his side. The demon scurried back up against his car, hissing as she knelt beside him and placed her hands on his shoulders, forcing him down. 

“Don’t move,” she murmured. As soon as her hand brushed against the skin of his neck, the pain subsided and his vision was restored. Crowley looked up at her, squinting at the bright halo behind her dark hair. It was entirely too bright. What had she done to him?

Reaching up to touch the side of his face, Crowley felt a stab of panic when he realized the black sunglasses that normally sat perched on his nose were no longer there. 

“What the fuck was that?” Crowley grumbled, moving to sit up. His eyes fell to the browning grass beside him. Quicker than humanly possible, he snatched up the glasses and shoved them back onto his face, dry grass scratching roughly at his outstretched hands. Blinking once more, his eyes glanced up toward the cottage doorway and the still smouldering horseshoe above the threshold.

“Sorry about that.” The woman actually looked apologetic. “Just a precaution. You understand, don’t you?”

The demon groaned again and went to stand up. He felt his knees buckle underneath him and reached out a hand to brace himself against the car. A low hiss escaped his lips as Crowley took a moment to orient himself, still feeling like he was about to pass out.

“I need a favor,” he hissed through gritted teeth, finally turning to look down at Anathema again. “And I’d really appreciate not being discorporated when I am  _ invited _ into your house.”

A small smile graced her face and Crowley felt himself relax slightly. “Maybe you should look a bit more carefully before you walk into a witch’s home.”

Grinning, the demon finished steadying himself and turned his body fully toward her. “I think I’ve learned my lesson. I’ll be sure to crawl in through the chimney next time. Or should I wait for some sort of summoning circle?”

He wasn’t angry, not really. Warding a home against demons was a smart move. Even though demons didn’t really run amuck on Earth anymore, it never hurt to be prepared for the worst.

“You’re a demon, aren’t you?” the woman asked inquisitively as she began walking, leading him around the outside of the cottage toward the back lawn. It was small and quaint, with a pair of weeping willow trees and a handful of cushioned patio chairs. The ground was littered with fallen leaves, creating a soft red and golden blanket that crunched underneath his feet as he walked. “I remember you. You’re the one who hit my bike.”

Crowley scoffed. “I think you mean that  _ you’re  _ the one who hit my car.”

Anathema laughed softly to herself. “Where is your angel friend? He is an angel, isn’t he? I remember a distinct aura about him. It took me a while to understand it.” She paused and offered the demon his choice of seats. Crowley shifted his weight from one foot to the other, not making a move toward any of them. The boyfriend, Newton, passed by on his left and went to stand by Anathema’s side, his brown eyes watching Crowley with curiosity now, but no fear. “I don’t think I finally realized what was happening until that day.”

The demon gritted his teeth. “He’s the reason I’m here.” Crowley took a deep breath, shutting his eyes for a brief moment. He’d been so sure of himself in driving all the way out here. Certain that this woman could help him. Now that he was standing right in front of her, his confidence was wavering. Was he really here to have Anathema use her witchy abilities to try and investigate another human? How scared did he have to be to stoop to this level? Crowley was a  _ demon _ for someone’s sake. Surely he could handle a problem like this all on his own. 

He wasn’t scared, Crowley tried to reason with himself. He was just concerned that Aziraphale might be getting too close too fast. They didn’t know anything about this human. Crowley would hate for the angel to get his feelings hurt if things went pear-shaped, and they most certainly would eventually. He was being a good friend, looking out for Aziraphale like this. And, to top it all off, Crowley had tried to go about it the honest way first. He’d done his due diligence and come up with nothing. When technology failed, it was time to call in some extra help.

“Aziraphale’s caught the attention of some human,” Crowley began, trying to keep his voice as neutral as possible. No need to let her see into his entire soul. They barely knew each other. “I’m just concerned about the whole situation. I did a little bit of research,” he broke off as Anathema fixed him with a pointed look. “Not like that,” he protested, very aware of how he must be coming across. “I just wanted to make sure this guy’s alright. That he’s not going to hurt Aziraphale, in any way.” Crowley took a deep shuddering breath, cursing himself and his  _ blessed _ emotions. “I don’t want him to turn out to be some sort of religious zealot or serial killer or anything. ” He took another breath, forcing a smile. “I can’t begin to tell you how much paperwork that would be.”

“And you want me to do some digging for you.” It was not a question. Crowley nodded his head, the words he was about to say caught in his throat.

After a moment, Anathema sighed. She glanced up at Newton with a glimmer of something in her eye. From the brief glance he got, it looked to the demon like a mixture of reluctance and consideration. “I don’t know how much I can do from here. It’s a lot easier to get a read on someone when they’re standing in front of me.”

Crowley swept his arms out to either side, eyebrows raised, gesturing her to come along. “Well, let’s go then. London’s just a quick shot down the M25.” He forced a grin onto his face, ignoring how his stomach twisted unpleasantly inside of him. “We can be there before lunch.”

“What?” An amused snort left Anathema’s mouth. “You want to go now? Just - waltz into this guy’s house?”

“Why the hell not?” he shot back, a bit too abruptly. “Do you have anything better to be doing on a Saturday morning?”

The demon actually bit his tongue at the end of that statement, cutting himself off. He sounded insane. By the look on Anathema’s face, she must have felt the same way. He may be a demon, but even Crowley knew this was no way to go about asking for help.

Groaning loudly, Crowley spun around and stalked back toward the gate leading out of the yard. This was a waste of time. He shouldn’t have come out here. He’d be better off tailing the guy on his own or - here was an ingenious idea - actually talk to Aziraphale about his concerns, instead of working behind the angel’s back.

It was a thought, and a decent one at that, but one he knew would never happen. 

“Oh, hullo there.”

The demon stopped in his tracks, suddenly finding himself face to face with three small humans and an Antichrist. They were positioned on the other side of the fence, plastic helmets still strapped to their heads, hands wrapped firmly around a pair of bike handles. 

“Adam,” Crowley’s mouth was suddenly very dry. “Fancy seeing you around.”

“We could say the same for you,” the girl piped up from her position at Adam’s right side. “We actually live around here. You don’t.”

What was he supposed to say to that? Crowley doubted these children had come over here to listen to his problems. He should probably just go, get himself out of their hair. Anathema and Newton and the children probably  _ did  _ have better things to do on a Saturday morning, despite what he might have proclaimed earlier. 

“Perhaps Adam could help,” he heard Anathema offer from behind him. Crowley paused, hand resting firmly on the iron latch that was mounted on the white picket gate. 

Was that possible? Could Adam Young,  Adversary, Destroyer of Kings, Angel of the Bottomless Pit, Great Beast that is called Dragon, Prince of This World, Father of Lies, Spawn of Satan, Lord of Darkness actually be able to help Crowley dig up some information on a human? Better yet, could he do it from the comfort of Anathema’s yard?

“Are you in trouble?” the boy asked, looking up at Crowley, studying his face like a bird watcher might study a meadow lark.

_ Not yet.  _ Crowley bit back that response, not wanting to give the children any ideas. But he was certainly going to be if Aziraphale ever found out what he was doing _ . _

“Not exactly,” he stretched the word out as long as he could without sounding utterly ridiculous, trying to buy himself more time. What exactly was he supposed to say here? ‘Oh, good day there, Antichrist. I was just in the neighborhood getting help from a witch to dig up some dirt on my best-friend-and-love-of-my-life’s potential new human boyfriend. Want to lend a hand?’

Right. Way too much information to dump on his ex-boss’ abandoned son who he barely even knew. Best to keep this short.

“You remember that angel from before?”

Only Adam nodded his head. The other three children stared up at him blankly, like he’d just spoken a foreign language to them and they were still trying to process whether or not he’d meant to.

“Was he the one wearing the old suit and tartan bow tie?” the dirty child asked finally, reaching up a hand to tousle his already tangled brown hair. The boy next to him with the glasses looked up, a bit shocked at the state of disarray his friend was putting himself in. 

Crowley smiled at that. Of course Aziraphale would be remembered for the tartan. Ridiculous bastard. He always had the most ridiculous sense of fashion. Crowley loved him for it.

“That’s the one.” He paused, glancing from one face to the next, then back to the beginning. There were so many of them. Which one was he supposed to focus on? “He may be in a bit of a jam, but I’m not sure yet. You see, there’s this human that’s started coming around. Azirapale’s been spending a lot of time with this guy, and I just want to make sure he’s not going to cause any trouble. Can’t be too careful.”

“What sort of trouble do you think this human might be?” Adam asked, not once taking his eyes off Crowley’s face.

The demon shrugged. How was he supposed to know?

“Maybe he’s a spy,” the girl supplied, moving to the side to set her bike up against the fence. The other two boys followed her lead. Only Adam remained stationary, his bike with the brown wicker basket still in place. “Or someone on the run. He could be wanted for murder.”

Adam frowned. “What is it you want me to do? Did you try looking him up on the internet? You can find a lot of good information on the internet about people.”

“Did I - “ Crowley broke off, his eyes wide, nostrils flared. “Of  _ course _ I tried looking him up on the internet. Do you think I’m a complete imbecile?”

“Have you ever tried looking yourself up on the internet before?” the girl asked, interrupting their very important conversation. “I tried once. Found some pictures of me when I was really little and Mum still had me in ballet and gymnastics classes. I looked utterly ridiculous in those ruffled pink things. Ghastly, the lot of them. I cannot believe my parents passed over cricket and fencing and signed me up those  _ girly _ activities instead.”

“Ballet isn’t girly,” the boy with glasses pointed out. “You have to have an incredible amount of upper body and leg strength to be a dancer.”

“Sorry,” Adam answered back simply as the girl crossed her arms over her chest and huffed. In an instant, the two of his friends began to argue about gender stereotypes in sports in the background, completely forgetting the rest of them were even nearby. “I gave my powers away after everything happened. Didn’t think I’d be needing them anymore.”

That explained it. Adam had seemed a bit different than the last time. Crowley wondered how he hadn’t noticed it before. Perhaps he might have, if he’d not been so distracted with thoughts of Aziraphale. 

“So you’re really just a normal kid now, huh?” The demon tried not to let his voice sink too much. It wasn’t the kid’s fault he didn’t have world-ending powers anymore. Honestly, it was probably best for everyone that he didn’t. Less of a chance the earth would blow up when he went through puberty. 

The boy looked up at Crowley with wide hazel eyes. “Is that such a bad thing?”

For a moment, no words came. The demon simply stared down at Adam Young, knowing full well that the boy, whatever else he may claim, could see through him in this moment without a doubt.

“No, I suppose it isn’t.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One more update for this weekend. I had a lot going on today, but I'm happy I could get this done before I went to bed. Enjoy!


	8. Interlude: Hell

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Michael visits Hell to discuss their plan for revenge.

Demons were not known for their patience. Not being known for it did not mean they did not possess any. Given the right circumstances, a demon could display infinite patience. They could spend upwards of an entire century working on one single human soul. They had waited six-thousand years to get back at Heaven for what had happened to them and when an eleven year old child had denied them the opportunity, the whole force of Hell had simply gone back to work, content to wait as long as they needed to for the next chance to arise.

Demons were not  _ always  _ patient, however, especially not when they had an angel knocking on the front doors of Hell and had limited time to decide what to do before said angel got annoyed and blasted the door from its hinges. This wouldn’t be the first time Michael had pulled such a stunt. The angel was not known for their patience either.

Angels and demons were from the same stock, after all. It only made sense.

Beelzebub sat on their throne, fingers drumming against the cracked wood as one Duke after the other materialized in the room. They had called all of the Dukes together to discuss what to do about the angel buzzing about the doors of Hell before making the final decision. Michael had been allowed here before, but that had been under very different circumstances. They had needed something from him - something none of them were able to retrieve on their own.

Now, it seemed the tables had turned. Now Michael was the one requesting an audience with them. Beelzebub was hesitant to let them in, if only for the sole reason that they were supposed to be hereditary enemies - opposed to all ways of working together. What could the angel have to offer that the demons of Hell could possibly want?

Looking around the dimly lit room, Beelzebub scowled as their eyes only fell on ten other figures in the room. Why couldn’t demons bother to show up on time? Common decency was not one of their highly valued traits, but obedience was. 

“Where izz Dantalion?” they buzzed, not bothering to hide the irritation in their voice. “I summoned all of you and I expect  _ all of you _ to be here!”

“Relax, boss,” a voice called from the back of the room. All heads turned toward the demon, lounging in a plush armchair that had most certainly not been there moments before. Beelzebub narrowed their eyes, fixing their gaze on the demon that had chosen to arrive late to the meeting and picked a seat on the other end of the room when all the other demons in attendance were standing at attention before Beelzebub’s throne. “I’m here, eagerly awaiting whatever it is you have to say.”

“If you were so eager,” they responded, gaze fixed on the demon’s ever-changing face. Even now, the neat brown hair was lengthening, turning a light blonde color as his sharp jaw became more feminine, lips fuller, teeth just as straight as before. Only the cold grey eyes remained the same. “You would have been firzzt in line.”

Dantalion simply shrugged. “You wouldn’t believe how horrid traffic on the M25 is at this time of day. I’m lucky I was able to make it here at all.”

Silently, Beelzebub watched as the grey-eyed demon glanced pointedly over at Hastur, who was glaring back at the new arrival with unbridled fury. What had Dantalion done to provoke such a reaction? For a moment, Beelzebub thought about saying nothing, just to see what the two of them would do, if given the opportunity to interact with each other. They would have done just that if there wasn’t currently a highly agitated angel at their front gate, about two minutes away from causing total destruction and giving them all a major headache.

Holding up a hand, the demons around Beelzebub fell silent. All eyes once again were directed toward them as the Prince of Hell addressed their audience. “It appearzz we have a vizzitor. Michael, the Archangel, hazzz been sent down from on high to grazze uzzzz with their prezzenze.” The demon paused to let that message sink in. Some of the Demon Lords glanced around at each other, displaying the same apprehension that Beelzebub had felt upon learning the news. “I have called your council to see what we should do about thizz situation.”

“I say we let them in,” Dantalion suggested, skin on his face turning a shade darker every second. Red hair turned dark and began to curl in on itself. Feminine features remained feminine, but his lips turned fuller, eyelashes much darker, although the eyes remained ever the same stormy grey they had always been. “Satan knows we could use a bit of excitement around here.”

“What would you know of excitement?” Beelzebub heard Hastur snarl in the other Duke’s direction. “You’ve been gone without a word for ages.”

Gone? What in the nine circles of Hell was Hastur talking about? All of the demons had been present and accounted for since that disastrous attempt to start the War to End All Wars. Where could Dantalion have gone that Beelzebub hadn’t known about?

The demon prince sighed. This was a conversation for another time. A time when Hell wasn’t under siege by a single angel, determined to break through.

“All in favor of letting the angel in to talk?”

Beelzebub didn’t bother counting how many demons raised their hands. There was only one opinion that really mattered in this situation. Everything else was just a formality.

“Right,” the Demon Prince proclaimed. “Bring them in.”

Moments later, Michael was waltzing into the room, white wings out in the open for everyone to see. The change in the room was immediate. Several of the demons closest to the doorway shrunk back, hissing and jeering at the angel as they approached Beelzebub’s throne. The angel paid them no mind. Their brown eyes were fixed only on the dark-haired demon, sitting in the place of honor at the center of the dimly lit room. 

Beelzebub kept their eyes trained on the angel’s face. Michael didn’t look like they’d come to cause any trouble, but by the state of their wings, the demon imagined they’d come here in a hurry. Whatever could be so important the Archangel would fly here, threaten to break down the door, and not take a moment to stop and flatten some of their feathers?

“Why are you here, Michael?” The Demon Prince queried, leaning forward to rest their chin on their upturned palm, trying to convey the image of someone who was very much not interested in whatever was going on.

“Beelzebub.” The angel addressed them cooly, with neither reverence nor distain. “I was sent on behalf of Gabriel. He and the other Archangels are working on a way to punish the traitor, Aziraphale, for his actions during the apocalypse.”

Beelzebub groaned, and a millisecond later, all the other demons were mimicking the sound. The hall filled with grumbles and groans and sounds of frustration and indignation. They’d tried this already. Both Crowley and the angel had walked away from their revenge without a scratch. It had taken weeks to calm the demons down enough to get back to work. A demon, immune to holy water? It was unheard of. Just as impossible as an angel immune to hellfire.

“We have tried thizzz before, Michael,” Beelzebub pointed out as calmly as they could. “We ended up with a demon splashing Holy Water all over the room. Do you know how long that took to clean up?”

The hint of a smile appeared on Michael’s face, but they quickly wiped it away. “This plan won’t require Holy Water or Hellfire.”

What in Satan’s name were they on about? The only thing that destroyed an angel was Hellfire. Everyone knew that. So what in the world was Gabriel trying to do, that idiotic bastard?

“It doezzn’t sound like much of a plan, then, doezz it?”

Beelzebub didn’t mean to be so condescending, except it brought them too much joy to be anything else. Michael’s eyes narrowed, jaw clenching almost imperceptibly.

The Demon Prince noticed.

“We are planning on using The Sword instead.”

The Sword. Beelzebub wasn’t the only demon in the room that heard the use of capital letters in Michael’s statement. The Sword - the flaming one that had guarded the gate to Eden. The one that, somehow, only Crowley had been able to get around. The sword that had been missing for six thousand years, until it hadn’t. Lost to the ages only to turn up the moment the world was supposed to end.

“And that will kill them?” The demon had no reason to suspect this fact was true, but if it wasn’t, why had Michael come all this way?

There was a glint that appeared in Michael’s brown eyes. A glint that was far more eager and more cruel than they’d seen in some of the demons that resided in Hell.

“Even better.” The angel paused to let the words sink in. From the corner of their eye, Beelzebub could see several of the Demon Lords looking warily at each other. Others were leaning forward, practically salivating at the chance to learn of something that was better than the traitor being killed.

Hastur was one of the latter, and to their surprise, Dantalion was one of the former.

He wasn’t looking around at any of the other Demon Lords. Most of them wouldn’t make eye contact with him if promised all the riches in the world. Instead, his eyes were fixed on Michael, cheeky grin suddenly gone from his face. His hands were curled into fists on his lap and there was a twitch in his jawline that became more pronounced as the demon’s face started turning more masculine as the seconds ticked by.

Interesting. Beelzebub would have to remember to revisit this later.

“We don’t have all day, Michael,” the Demon Prince chastised, looking down at the non-existent watch on their wrist. “If you could get to the  _ point _ .”

The angel huffed, clearly not impressed with their lack of interest in what they had to say. “We can use the sword against  _ both  _ of them. It has the power to turn them mortal. To make them forget about all Heaven and Hell.”

Beelzebub sat forward in their seat. Now they were interested. By all accounts, there was no reason they should believe anything Michael said, except -  _ except _ they remembered that this had happened before. Centuries ago, Hell had experimented with sending multiple operatives to Earth to help spread evil and dissent. They hadn’t bothered to disguise themselves among the humans and had quickly been chased back down to the depths they had crawled out of.

All but one. A lesser demon, whose name escaped Beelzebub, hadn’t come back for ages. They didn’t do a particularly good job at tracking time down in Hell, but the demon was sure it had been decades before the missing demon had shown up again. Their memory was a bit foggy on the subject, but they were fairly certain he had just appeared back in Hell one afternoon, going on and on about a sword and torn wings and wiped memories.

Sensing none of the demons were about to offer up any useful information, Michael turned to face them. “We just need to figure out what happened to the sword.”

A snort escaped Beelzebub’s nose before they could stop it. Michael turned back, eyebrows arched in impatient curiosity. “We know where it izzz.”

The angel obviously did not believe them. Beelzebub’s eyes narrowed. Of course, Michael had every reason to mistrust them. Hereditary enemies and all, except for the fact that they had never lied to the angel. Never in the six thousand years they’d known each other.

There had never been a reason to, so why bother?

“How?” The word was strung out, hanging in the air around them, the mistrust and suspicion sharp like steel knives. “You left the airbase at the same time Gabriel did. There would have been no way for you to see where it ended up.”

True, except for the fact that Beelzebub wasn’t an idiot. They knew the only way to appease Hell was to blame someone. Leaving that someone alone on Earth for any extended period of time would have been idiotic.

“You think we didn’t keep tabzzz on Crowley when he left the airbazze?” Honestly, it was like the angel thought they were incompetant. “Your traitor may be a bumbling idiot, but ourz is a slippery one. He spent most of the dayzz leading up to the apocalypzzze trying to run away. We weren’t going to take any chanzezzz.”

“And?” Michael asked, clearly not understanding why any of this was important to the discussion. Beelzebub resisted the urge to roll their eyes.

“ _ And _ ,” the Demon Prince emphasized. “One of my underlingzz saw a pozztman come and pick up the sword.”

Beelzebub did not elaborate, allowing a slow smile to spread across their face as Michael tensed, eyes flashing with unrestrained irritation. They could have just told the angel everything, but where was the fun in that? It was more entertaining to watch Michael work for the information they so clearly desired.

“A postman.” The words filled the air, flat and disbelieving. Some of the demons around them snickered. Only Beelzebub seemed to hear the question in Michael’s statement.

“Yezz,” they buzzed. “A pozztman. I can tell you which one, if you’d like.”

Michael was silent for a moment, brown eyes staring unblinking at the Demon Prince. Beelzebub waited patiently for their response. They had a good idea what the angel might say, but there was no point in rushing the conversation. It wasn’t as if there was anything more exciting going on down here. Anything the Demon Prince could use to escape the paperwork waiting back on their desk was worth their time.

“How do you feel about testing the theory out on your slippery serpent?”

Beelzebub grinned as the demons around him began to whisper amongst themselves. This time, there was a far more excited hum to the noise. For the briefest of moments, the Demon Prince allowed their eyes to flicker down to the faces surrounding them. Only one of the demons in the room remained perfectly still, grey eyes fixed on the Archangel, never once opening their ever-shifting lips to speak.

Reaching out a hand, Beelzebub focused their attention back on Michael’s face, trying to ignore the way the golden flakes on their skin seemed to glow with heavenly light.

The two eternal beings shook on it, eyes locked, tense but satisfied smiles on both of their faces. 

“It would be our pleazzure.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think the story will continue in this pattern for a while, at least. A few chapters with Crowley and Aziraphale and then a glance at what either Heaven or Hell are up to. I've enjoyed investigating their side of the story, so hopefully you guys won't mind the quick diversion. We will be back to check up on our favorite angel and demon next! Stay tuned :) And feel free to drop a comment and let me know what you think so far.


	9. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale's food tasting event is interrupted.

The tasting took place at precisely 3pm on Saturday afternoon when the restaurant typically experienced a lull between lunch and dinner seatings. Aziraphale walked in through the front door, expecting to have to ask someone where to go. He was pleasantly surprised to see Thomas standing nearby waiting for him. The man was dressed in a pair of black pants and a traditional white chef’s uniform, his hair tucked up under a simple white hat that drooped over to one side.

Aziraphale spotted Thomas first, a small smile settling onto his face as the angel stepped over the threshold into the main part of the building. He’d remembered to wear his coat this time, and with the door closing behind him, suddenly felt a smidge too warm. Shrugging his shoulders, the angel slipped it off, folding it neatly over his arm as he took a step toward the taller man.

As if he could sense the angel’s presence, Thomas looked up. The moment their eyes met, Aziraphale felt his heart jump into his throat. A wide grin spread across his face and he was practically floating across the floor to stand next to his new friend. 

“Glad you could make it, Ezra.” The way he said Aziraphale’s human name sent shivers down the angel’s spine. Thomas’ voice was soft and warm - alluring, in a way. He found that he wanted to hear more of it and was sorely disappointed when the taller man led him to a private room with a handful of other strangers. There was a long table set up in the middle, with a fine white tablecloth and utensils enough for a five course meal. The walls were entirely made of a medium brown wood and sported a handful of abstract paintings, not exactly to the angel’s taste. Smiling down at him, Thomas reached forward to pull out the final empty chair for Aziraphale to sit in.

“You aren’t going to stay?” he asked, trying not to let his voice waiver. Thomas leaned in and placed a hand gently over the one Aziraphale had left resting on the table. The angel’s breath caught in his throat as he felt the gentle squeeze and the tickle of warm breath against his exposed neck.

“Don’t you worry.” The man’s eyes looked much more grey than blue in this lighting. Aziraphale found them to be rather striking. “You’ll be seeing plenty of me.”

Blue eyes watched solemnly as Thomas walked around the outside of the table and disappeared through a doorway at the far side of the room. The moment he was out of sight, Aziraphale felt himself relaxing. He turned to his left and smiled at the woman beside him. She was probably in her mid forties with short dark hair and a thin pair of silver glasses. The moment she caught him looking, the woman beamed.

“You must be Ezra.”

Aziraphale’s eyes widened. How had she known his name? Had he met her somewhere before? Off the top of his head, he couldn’t place her face. Perhaps she was a customer of his. If so, he doubted she’d be so happy to see him. Aziraphale tended to act a bit brusquely with the people that visited his bookshop. The less comfortable they were inside the shop, the less likely he would be forced to part with one of his precious tomes. 

If she wasn’t from the bookshop, than how did he know her? “I am,” Aziraphale stated, his curiosity getting the best of him.

The woman stuck out her hand and Aziraphale shook it, offering up a polite smile. “I’m Natalie Oatman. Thomas’ next door neighbor. He’s told me a lot about you.”

He had? What sort of things had Thomas told her? Based on her initial reaction to him, Aziraphale assumed whatever it was had been good. Had he mentioned the way the two had met? Aziraphale almost knocking him over in the streets? Did he talk about Aziraphale as a friend? They were friends, weren’t they? Thomas had said as much on the first day they had spoken to each other, when he’d introduced himself to Crowley.

_ Crowley. _ Aziraphale felt his stomach sink unpleasantly at the thought of his best friend. It was strange to think about how much he missed the demon. They had gone much longer than a few days without seeing each other in the past and the time or distance had never affected the angel this much, but now? Any day that went by without seeing the tall red-head was a rather lonely day for Aziraphale.

There was no one to blame but himself. Aziraphale wasn’t trying to avoid Crowley. They’d gotten brunch together last Sunday, and Crowley had come over to the bookshop Tuesday night for drinks. They’d had a marvelous time, just talking together, but at the end of the night, the demon had left. Aziraphale hadn’t seen him since.

He’d tried, admittedly not very hard. After Aziraphale’s run in with Thomas on Wednesday, he’d completely forgot about the desire he’d had earlier that day to call up Crowley and see if he was interested in catching a movie later that evening. On Thursday, the answering machine had been the one to greet him, so the angel had hung up. For some reason, he hadn’t bothered calling again.

“Are you alright, dear?” Natalie asked softly. “You look a bit down.”

Aziraphale shook his head, trying to clear his mind of thoughts of Crowley and how terrible a friend the angel was to him. Perhaps later this evening he could treat Crowley to dinner. Or they could go for a walk in the park and pelt bread crumbs at birds. His demon would like that.

A faint blush appeared on the angel’s face.  _ His demon _ . If only that were true.

“Oh, yes. Of course,” he responded, trying to think of something to say to her that would explain his sudden change in demeanor. “Just lost in thought, I suppose.”

It was a terribly cliche excuse, but one she seemed to buy. “What sort of things did Thomas say about me?” Aziraphale asked. It was a logical question to come in their conversation, but the angel wasn’t nearly as invested as before. He shifted in his seat, glancing up at the door where he’d entered, trying to catch a glimpse of the front window and the street beyond.

She smiled, but Aziraphale was too distracted to take any notice. “Only the best.”

Their conversation was interrupted by the first dish. It was a decadent white bowl filled with what looked to be potato gnocchi smothered in some kind of white sauce with a spattering of miniscule tomatoes and a dash of pine nuts. Aziraphale watched as several waiters waltzed through the doors leading to the kitchen and made their way around the table of guests. The bowls were placed in front of each participant and once everyone had been served, hands found their way to utensils and the tasting commenced.

For what was likely the first time in his existence, Aziraphale didn’t quite feel like eating. Instead of picking up his fork and diving in like the rest of them, the angel simply stared at his dish, breathing in the scent of basil and thyme and wondering why in the world he hadn’t thought to invite Crowley to come with him. The demon didn’t really eat much, but Aziraphale was certain he would have come if asked. Crowley had never turned him down for a meal together - not once in all the centuries they had known each other. 

Sighing, Aziraphale picked up his fork and used it to stab one of the quarter sized pieces of potato. The fork slid in much smoother than he expected it to. Making sure to get a general helping of sauce over the small morsel, the angel lifted it to his mouth and took a bite.

The dish was truly divine, one of the best things he’d ever tasted. The gnocchi melted in his mouth and the sauce reminded him of a mild alfredo. Sweet and smooth and altogether delightful. Still, it did not bring him nearly as much joy as the hundreds of other meals he had shared with a particular golden-eyed demon. Perhaps he should take his leave early. Head back to the bookshop and phone Crowley again. Surely the demon would pick up this time, and if he didn’t? Well, Aziraphale knew where he lived now. He could always just pop by.

Without realizing it, Aziraphale’s gaze had drifted back toward the doorway, glancing over at the thin sliver of outside light he was able to see from his current seat. For the briefest instant, the angel thought he saw a flash of red hair as a man dressed in black passed by the window. As soon as he blinked, the image was gone. The angel’s stomach clenched again and he gently lowered his fork to the table, dish only half finished.

A minute or two later, voices drifted in through the open door. Aziraphale couldn’t hear the words that were being said, not even with his improved celestial abilities, but the conversation sounded heated. Moments later, the voices sounded louder as two bodies moved closer to the door to their private room.

“Sir, this is a private event. You can’t go barging in there.”

“The  _ hell _ I can’t!” a very familiar voice snapped back. Aziraphale felt his body simultaneously fill with waves of relief and apprehension. Crowley was  _ here.  _ Crowley was upset.

Crowley was about to make a scene.

Aziraphale was on his feet in an instant, turning to mumble some half-hearted apology for Natalie to pass along to Thomas before making a beeline for the door. He didn’t once stop to ask for a to-go bag. All Aziraphale wanted in that moment was to be by Crowley’s side, his meal be damned.

“Angel,” the demon breathed, coming to an abrupt halt as Aziraphale positioned himself in the door. Crowley was halfway across the room, hostess a few steps behind him. He was wearing his usual black jeans, v-neck shirt and back leather jacket, but had draped a thin red scarf around his neck instead of the usual grey one. How in the world did Crowley keep warm in this weather? While stylish, he didn’t imagine the jacket was all that cozy and the scarf was a pitiful excuse for fall fashion. It barely touched the demon’s neck, choosing to hang limply against his chest instead.

So Aziraphale  _ had _ seen him pass by earlier. The angel felt a rush of warmth at the thought that Crowley had forced his way into a private event specifically to see him. He beamed at the demon and watched as Crowley visibly relaxed. The tension seemed to melt out of his friend’s body as he extended a hand toward Aziraphale. “Want me to help you with your coat?”

This was the point where Aziraphale could have told Crowley off. This  _ was  _ a private event, after all, and Aziraphale had been specifically invited to it. He had every right to attend without having to worry about his best friend bursting in and making a scene. Aziraphale could have politely asked Crowley to leave, explaining to him that his tantrum was completely unnecessary. He was a full-fledged angel and could spend his time however he saw fit, whether Crowley approved or not.

But what would be the point in that? Aziraphale didn’t want Crowley to leave - not without him. He didn’t want to tell Crowley off or spend his time elsewhere. Aziraphale wanted to go with Crowley. It was such a sudden, powerful urge, so similar to how he’d felt when Crowley had found him in the Bastille or at the church when the demon had walked on consecrated ground for him. Both of those times, Crowley had appeared to rescue him from some dangerous situation the angel had managed to get himself in. Even then, still under the label of ‘hereditary enemies’, he had stepped outside the bounds of The Arrangement to save Aziraphale from certain embarrassment and the hassles of discorporation. 

Feeling that way now was utterly ridiculous, of course. Whatever did he need to be rescued from here? At a food tasting, of all places.

“Let’s go down to the park,” Aziraphale murmured as he slipped his arms into the beige coat, pointedly not turning around to see if anyone was still watching after his abrupt departure. “I’m sure with the sudden chill in the weather, the ducks are in need of some extra snacks right about now.” He turned around to face Crowley and without a second thought, reached up to wrap his tartan patterned scarf around the demon’s neck. A soft smile appeared on the angel’s lips as he noticed the demon’s scowl, a light pink rising to his angular cheeks.

They walked arm in arm down the street, Crowley being the one to lead the conversation for once. He was going on and on about this new fern he’d acquired for his collection. Aziraphale was content to simply listen, his hand wrapped comfortably around Crowley’s arm, chiming in only when he felt the need arise.

“Honestly, angel,” the demon was saying as they passed by one shop after the other. The street was busy. Crowded, almost, except there wasn’t another human being walking within three feet of them. Aziraphale was reminded of a particular miracle that had taken place ages ago involving a man, a wooden staff, and a very large body of water. “It’s like the blasted thing is mocking me. No matter what I threaten it with, the bastard won’t respect my authority. Did you know it had the  _ nerve _ to grow flowers the other day? Flowers.” Crowley huffed, looking both ways before leading Aziraphale out into the street.

“Ferns aren’t blossoming plants. There’s not been one single fern in all the history of ferns that has ever grown flowers. And I just happen to pick up the most useless, stubborn one there is. Won’t listen to reason, that one.” The demon stopped talking as they crossed into St. James Park, his feet automatically leading them to their usual bench. In unison, the pair sat down. Aziraphale kept his arm linked with Crowley’s for a moment longer, not wanting to let go yet. 

“They aren’t even cool looking flowers,” the demon grumbled as he slouched against the wooden bench, golden eyes staring daggers at the ducks that had already begun to gather at their feet. “Only flower of its kind and it couldn’t look as unique as a ‘bird of paradise’ or a ‘snapdragon’. No, it’s this little bunch of  _ dainty  _ looking white things. With little blue speckles on them, if you look close enough. Pathetic.”

Aziraphale smiled. “They sound absolutely lovely.”

Crowley turned and the angel could feel his glare, even through the black sunglasses. “Did  _ you _ have anything to do with this? Don’t tell me you’ve been sneaking into my flat at night and complimenting them while I sleep!”

A laugh escaped the angel’s mouth. “Oh no, my dear boy. I wouldn’t dream of it.”

They fell into a comfortable silence after that, sitting arm in arm on the bench, staring out at the ducks gathering below. Aziraphale knew this was the point in the afternoon when he was supposed to miracle them up some bread to toss into the pond, but he found that his hand did not want to move from where it was currently tucked into the crook of Crowley’s elbow. He would be content to sit here, just like this, for the rest of the night if the demon would let him.

Thoughts began to flitter around Aziraphale’s head as the sun drifted slowly across the sky. Now that Heaven and Hell were no longer breathing down their necks, angel and demon had put in much less effort to try and hide their friendship. They dined in the open, walked arm in arm down the street. Crowley came by the bookshop multiple times a week. They went to museums and saw movies and plays together. Hardly a day or two went by when they didn’t see each other. 

To any human, they must appear to be a couple. Aziraphale would have been a fool not to realize that the things he and Crowley did together could very much be construed as dates to anyone who might be watching. That thought used to fill him with so much fear. Fear of being found out. Fear of something happening to Crowley because of their friendship - their arrangement. And now? Now he couldn’t be happier to have the demon by his side.

He hoped that would always be the case. He hoped that he and Crowley would always be friends. And perhaps, if the angel could ever manage to gather enough courage, perhaps they could be more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A big thanks to everyone who has stuck around so far. I've really enjoyed watching your reactions and theories as to what is going on and I'm excited for you to find out all the details eventually :) hope you enjoyed another scene with our two favorite boys <3 feel free to leave a comment! 
> 
> See you again soon (most likely tomorrow - I'm rather excited about the next few chapters)


	10. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale readies himself for a night out on the town.

Something was wrong.

Aziraphale could feel it in his very core. His hands shook as he sorted through his collection of bow ties, trying to choose the perfect one for tonight. Most of his options looked almost identical - a beige tartan pattern with a thin red stripe scattered throughout. There were also a handful of other random patterns in the collection. A red and gold striped bow tie. One with a grey background and tiny green snakes Crowley had gotten him as a gag gift one year.

The last bow tie the angel picked up to examine was a single cerulean one. He had seen it in a shop once while walking around town and the brightness of the color had caught his eye. Aziraphale was not one for flashy clothing or bold images, but the tie had made him smile, imagining how it might enhance the color of his eyes when worn with a shirt just the right shade of blue. Imagining how Crowley might look at him one day, dressed in a new grey suit and baby blue dress shirt and striking cerulean tie. Imagining how the demon’s wide smile as he made his grand entrance and how Crowley’s eyes would linger on his face, for once not hiding behind the dark glasses he loved so much. The thought made Aziraphale weak in his knees.

Something was most definitely wrong. Aziraphale was upstairs in his flat above the bookshelf, sorting through one tie after the next, trying to figure out what to wear on his date.

With Thomas.

How had he gotten here? How had it come to this? Why had Aziraphale said ‘yes’ to the kind human man when all he really wanted was for the question to come from Crowley instead?

He remembered the conversation well - and yet, not well enough. After Aziraphale had so rudely disappeared during their last engagement, he had quite forgotten about Thomas. Oh, the angel had meant to phone his friend and apologize at some point, but he and Crowley had spent the whole evening together and then the next day the thought had simply slipped his mind. Aziraphale had gotten so busy with his books, he didn’t much notice the days slipping by until someone had knocked on his door midweek. 

“Oh, Thomas, my dear boy,” Aziraphale had greeted, trying to ignore the simultaneous sinking of his stomach and sudden flutter of his heart. “It’s so nice to see you. I am so sorry about the other day. Something came up and I had to leave early. I meant to call you.”

Thomas hadn’t looked all that put out. In fact, looking back, he had only seemed happy to see Aziraphale. Happy, and slightly nervous.

“Don’t worry about it, Ezra,” he replied, still standing in the doorway. Aziraphale had positioned himself mostly behind the door, simply choosing to poke his head and shoulders out while speaking to the man. “I understand things come up. Is Anthony alright?”

The angel’s eyes narrowed for a brief moment. How had Thomas known Crowley came to visit the restaurant? Had someone told him? He suspected it had been Natalie. She had mentioned before the tasting began that she was Thomas’ neighbor. It only made sense that she would have relayed the details of his sudden departure with Thomas since Aziraphale hadn’t had the opportunity to do so himself.

“Yes, he’s doing fine. How did the tasting go?” Aziraphale opened the bookshop door wider, his blue eyes meeting Thomas’ for a moment. Like the first time they’d met, the man’s eyes were a light blue-grey, reflecting the color of the dress shirt underneath his dark grey jacket.

Thomas smiled at him and Aziraphale felt a blush rising to his cheeks. Hastily, he fought it back down. What was wrong with him?

“It went great,” the man responded, shifting his weight from one foot to the other, eyes flickering away from Aziraphale’s face for a moment. “We got a lot of really helpful feedback from everyone.” He looked back up with glistening eyes and Aziraphale felt a sudden desire to reach out and take the man’s hand. Welcome him inside to share a cup of tea and pleasant conversation. “I wish you had been able to stay. To be honest, your input was the only bit I actually cared about.”

Aziraphale’s blush deepened. Before his mind could catch up with his mouth, the angel blurted out, “perhaps you could cook for me some other day.”

Now it was Thomas’ turn to blush. Aziraphale watched as the man’s foot scuffed against the sidewalk. “Ezra,” he trailed off, still avoiding eye contact, his shoulders stiff and tense. Then, taking a deep breath, the man looked back at Aziraphale and said, “Ezra, would you like to go out on a date with me?”

Although it sounded more like ‘wouldyouliketogooutonadatewithme?’ than any coherent sentence. Aziraphale still got the message loud and clear.

He should have known this would happen. Aziraphale should have been more clear from the start. He should have stuck to letting the man sell paintings outside his bookshop. If he had just gone on with polite conversations and kept his distance, he wouldn’t have to let Thomas down now. 

At least he could do his best to be gentle about it.

_ So sorry my dear boy, _ the angel opened his mouth to say,  _ but I’m afraid that isn’t the best of ideas. You see, Anthony and I have been best friends for ages and I’m quite fond of him. While I am sure I would have a wonderful time, going on a date with you would send the wrong message - to both of you. My heart belongs to Anthony. _

There was also the immortal being matter to consider, but Aziraphale wasn’t about to bring that up. There were only a handful of humans on the entire planet that knew about him and Crowley, and even then Aziraphale didn’t know if they truly understood all that had happened on the day the world didn’t end. He’d spent the last 6000 years pretending to be human. No reason to break the trend now. 

Aziraphale had it all planned out in his head. He knew exactly what he was going to say to the man. If Thomas was as kind a man as the angel thought, he would understand. If not, he would either never talk to Aziraphale again, which would be upsetting, but not the end of the world. Or, he would show his darker side and grow angry. Perhaps even tell Crowley what Aziraphale had said.

That might also not be so bad. The angel had wanted to confess his feelings for a long time now, but he’d always been too afraid. Perhaps, if things went ‘pear-shaped’ as Crowley liked to say, he wouldn’t have to gather his own courage. Perhaps Thomas could do for him what he’d been unable to do for so long.

“That sounds absolutely wonderful, Thomas. What did you have in mind?”

Even now, as he replayed the moment over and over again in his head, Aziraphale could not understand what had possessed him to say yes. He’d had the whole speech planned out. He’d been thinking about Crowley in that exact moment and how he absolutely could not say yes to any other being except his beloved demon. And yet, here he was. Preparing for a date with a human he’d known for two weeks fretting over what to wear because he couldn’t stand the idea of not looking his best for a date he hadn’t even wanted to participate in.

Something was very wrong.

He should call Crowley. The idea had been fluttering around in his mind for some time now, but Aziraphale had yet to act on it. Whatever would he say? He couldn’t very well tell the demon he’d agreed to go on a date with a human. Crowley would be upset with him, and Aziraphale hated making the demon upset. He would be angry, and heartbroken, and - 

Aziraphale stopped mid thought. How was he so sure Crowley would feel any of those things? The demon had known him for just as long and had never said a thing about how he felt about Aziraphale. Oh, he’d mentioned several times that they were friends.  _ Best friends,  _ in fact. But Aziraphale didn’t want to be just ‘best friends’. 

Did Crowley even feel the same way? Could he? Crowley was a demon, after all. Could demons feel love and affection toward other beings? Aziraphale liked to think they had the capacity, even if most of them didn’t utilize it. He  _ hoped _ Crowley had the capacity to feel the way for him that Aziraphale felt for the demon. 

Would it be so bad to call up Crowley and figure a way out of this evening? His friend would surely have a grand time coming up with some wiley scheme to free up Aziraphale’s night. Perhaps he’d invite the demon in for drinks after everything was all said and done. He’d profess his profound thanks, of course, even though Crowley would wince at hearing it. And maybe, just maybe - 

The angel’s thoughts were interrupted by the sound of his phone ringing. Aziraphale froze, for a moment, panic seizing at his chest. The only two people that would be calling him right now were Thomas and Crowley. In either case, the angel had no idea what he was going to say to them.

Grabbing the cerulean tie, Aziraphale hurried down the stairs. There was a mirror mounted to the back of the wall of the bookshop below. He could always finish pulling himself together later. The angel still had about twenty minutes before his date arrived and the night began.

“Hello?” Aziraphale answered breathlessly, his stomach twisting itself into more knots than it had even when he’d faced down Gabriel at the Tadfield airbase. 

“Angel. What’s got your knickers in a twist?”

Aziraphale breathed a sigh of relief. It was  _ Crowley  _ on the other line. The demon who would forever be his hero.

“Oh, hello dear boy,” the angel began, words tumbling from his lips before he could stop them. Aziraphale should pause and collect himself. He should simply say nothing more except to invite the demon over so they could formulate a plan together, but once again his mouth was three or four steps ahead of the rest of him. The angel plunged on. “I was just about to give you a ring. I’ve got this date tonight, you see, and I need some help -”

“You what?” Crowley cut him off, voice suddenly as hard as stone. 

Aziraphale’s breath caught in his throat, but not in the good way. Not in the way it did when Crowley brushed his hand or looked over at him with a soft smile. This reaction was accompanied by an ache in his chest and tears starting to pool in his eyes. “I...I have a date,” he reiterated, much less sure of himself than before. “I wanted to call and ask - “

Once again, he was cut off. “Who’s it with? Are you going on a date with that pathetic human?”

Pathetic? Aziraphale felt his heart sink into his stomach. Is that what Crowley really thought? He’d acted polite enough when he and Thomas had first met. Why hadn’t he said anything before? Why was this only coming up now?

Aziraphale shook his head. He was getting distracted. “That’s besides the point, my dear.”

“That isss exactly the point, Aziraphale!” the demon hissed back, the intensity in his voice startling Aziraphale so much he almost dropped the phone. Luckily, it was attached to a cord, so even if he had dropped the receiver, he could have quickly picked it back up again. “You don’t know anything about this human.”

“Well,” the angel huffed, having had just about enough of this conversation. “That’s entirely the point of a date, isn’t it? To get to know someone better.”

“Not that you would know.”

The second part was more of a mutter than anything else, but Aziraphale could tell by the sudden silence that Crowley had heard him. What in the heavens was wrong with him? This was not at all how this conversation was supposed to go. He needed Crowley’s help, for goodness sake. 

“Crowley, wait,” the angel sighed. “That’s not what I - “

“You know what?” the voice on the other side of the line bit back. “Save it, Aziraphale. Have fun on your date. I hope it’s all butterflies and unicorns vomiting rainbows and all that other gooey, mushy, romantic shit you like.”

He hung up. Aziraphale stood there, mouth hanging open, shocked not by what Crowley had said, but by himself. What had led him to say such an awful thing to his friend? Why had he jumped to defend his date with Thomas when all he wanted to do was get out of it? 

Without even realizing it, the angel had made his way to the mirror against the far wall. With shaky hands, he began to tie the cerulean fabric around his neck. Aziraphale could have miracled his outfit together, but that would be the definition of a frivolous miracle, and it wouldn’t have made him feel any less frazzled. 

This was absolutely ridiculous. He shouldn’t be here, wasting his time trying to tie a bow-tie. Aziraphale should be on his way to Crowley’s house. To apologize and explain the situation to him. He knew Crowley was upset, and to make matters worse, it was entirely his fault. Aziraphale had to make it right.

With a newfound determination, the angel finished tying his bow-tie, slipped on his jacket and strode toward the door. He would miracle himself to Crowley’s apartment, of course, but he had to lock up first. No need to take any risks of someone breaking in. 

The doorbell rang just as his hand brushed up against the lock above the copper handle. Aziraphale froze, knowing it had to be Thomas at the door. This was alright - the best outcome he could have hoped for, now that he took a second to think about it. Thomas was here, which meant Aziraphale didn’t have to stand him up. He could just explain to the man that he was needed elsewhere and that while he liked Thomas as a friend, they should probably keep their relationship at just that.

Sighing in relief, the angel opened the door, forcing a smile on to his frazzled face. Thomas, dressed in a stylish navy suit with crisp lines that accentuated his strong arms and shoulders perfectly, smiled down at him warmly. A white dress shirt peeked out underneath the jacket sleeve and a pale yellow tie was wrapped firmly around the man’s neck. It would seem that both of them had decided to dress in their finest for the evening’s activities, whatever they happened to be.

Aziraphale met Thomas’ gaze and all other thoughts flew out the window. He forgot about the telephone conversation and the upset demon and his worries about what the night would hold. He forgot about everything except the way his stomach filled with butterflies and his sudden desire to take hold of Thomas’ arm and never let go.

“You ready to go?”

And with that one earnest question, Aziraphale forgot just how absolutely and completely wrong everything was. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's today's chapter! I hope you all enjoy. I'm planning on jumping to Crowley's perspective for the next one, so that should be fun to write.
> 
> I wanted to let you all know that I am traveling to Florida this weekend for a wedding, so that either means I will have a ton of free time to write or absolutely no free time to write (won't know until I get there!). If you don't see any updates from me this weekend, that is why. At the very latest, I'll be back online Monday, but I really want to keep going with this story, so don't be surprised if the updates keep coming.
> 
> As always, comments and kudos make my day. I absolutely love reading what you guys have to say, so keep them coming!


	11. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley spies on Aziraphale's date.

What. The. Actual. Fuck.

Crowley could not believe his eyes. He could not believe that  _ his _ angel was out on a Friday night, on a romantic evening with this - this  _ imposter.  _

When the demon had phoned over to the bookshop earlier, he had called with the intention of inviting the angel out for dinner. It was last minute, but Aziraphale didn’t do much outside of the bookshop other than visit the neighbors, perform a handful of miracles, and spend time with Crowley. There had always been a slight chance that the angel would be busy, but never in all his existence had Crowley expected the reason to be because of a  _ date, _ with a human no less.

He tried to convince himself that he was upset about Aziraphale’s particular choice in dates rather than his choice to go on a date at all. They knew absolutely nothing about this Thomas guy. He was a painter that worked at a restaurant. Or so the man claimed. There was absolutely nothing Crowley could find to corroborate this story and as they days dragged on, the demon found himself getting more and more panicked. 

It was like 1941 all over again. Aziraphale had launched himself into some situation, thinking he had all the facts only to find himself staring down the barrel of a gun. Once again, Crowley was going to have to swoop in for the rescue. Unfortunately, this time, the demon didn’t know what he was up against. Sure, taking out a human would be easy work, but he had to do so without upsetting Aziraphale. The angel meant too much to Crowley. He wasn’t about to mess up his only friendship just to prove a point. There had to be a certain art to this. Crowley wouldn’t act until he figured out exactly what he needed to do.

For a short while, the demon had believed he actually  _ had _ messed things up. His trip to Tadfield had been less than helpful and he’d driven back to London frustrated and more frazzled than he would care to admit. Crowley had made a beeline for the bookshop, not bothering to swing by his apartment first. All he’d wanted was a simple afternoon of peace and quiet. Maybe if Crowley spent enough time with Aziraphale, the angel would forget about that stupid human and things could go back to normal.

Aziraphale hadn’t been at the bookshop and Crowley’s nerves had turned into full blown panic. He had been so sure that Aziraphale had been kidnapped or discorporated and it had been all Crowley’s fault because he hadn’t  _ been here _ . The demon had reached out immediately and found to his surprise that Aziraphale was in Covent Garden, of all places. At least he was still here on earth, and not too far from the bookshop. For now, the worst outcome had been avoided. Aziraphale was still safe.

Crowley would stop at nothing to make sure he stayed that way.

He’d immediately headed toward the angel, on foot, for fear that he might miss something from inside the Bentley. Crowley didn’t have a plan for when he found the angel, his plan was to make it up as he went along. The demon practically raced down the sidewalks of London, keeping his senses trained on the angel’s presence. This wasn’t the first time Crowley found himself thankful that Aziraphale was like a beacon to him. He assumed it wouldn’t be the last either.

The beacon grew stronger as he grew closer. Crowley remembered how his heart had pounded in his chest, pulsing with the beat of his shoes against the pavement. Aziraphale was fine. He was ok. Crowley would know if something was wrong. He didn’t know how, but that wasn’t the point. The  _ point _ was that he would know if something had happened.

Everything came to a point outside a restaurant on West Street. Crowley had walked by the front door, his senses still trained on the angel’s essence when it suddenly dimmed. He halted and turned around, looking up and down the street, trying to figure out which way to go next.

And then he’d realized where he was. Which restaurant he had been standing outside of and, more specifically, who worked there. Crowley couldn’t take it anymore. To hell with calmness and decency and manners. He was going to get to that blasted angel’s side if it was the last thing he ever did. He would scream at and force his way past whatever human tried to stand in his way.

Looking back, Crowley realized he’d been acting a bit insane. He could have handled the situation dozens of different ways, and naturally, he’d chosen one of the poorest methods. He’d stormed into that restaurant without a thought to the disturbance he was sure to make. Crowley had barely even heard the hostess as she’d shouted at him about some ‘private event’. One thought had taken over the demon’s mind in that moment - Aziraphale was in that back room in Thomas’ place of work. The thought shouldn’t have seemed so terrifying, and even now, Crowley couldn’t explain why it had been. All he knew was that he had to get the angel out of there as fast as possible.

Just as he had been about to burst through that back door, Aziraphale had come out to meet him. His angel had stepped through the door with a look of surprise and relief in his stunning blue eyes and suddenly, everything had been alright. Crowley had offered to help him with his coat, fully expecting Aziraphale to tell him off for making such a racket, but the angel had simply handed it over and they’d left. 

It was strange, how sudden his mind had gone from panicked to utterly content. Crowley had been a bit embarrassed by the whole situation, realizing just how much he’d overreacted. To fill the silence, he’d started talking about the first thing that came to his mind, hoping against hope that Aziraphale wouldn’t press the issue. Like the angel he was, he didn’t. They’d had a lovely evening together and Crowley finally breathed a sigh of relief. Things were on their way to being normal once more.

Until, suddenly, they were back to square one with this blasted date. The couple started off their evening at a performance of Les Miserables at the West End. Crowley knew this because he followed them. The moment he’d hung up the phone, Crowley had miracled himself to Soho, watching with narrowed eyes as Thomas had approached the bookshop door and rang the doorbell. 

He had waited, completely stopping his breath, as Aziraphale had opened the door, greeted the man with a bright, warm smile that should have been meant for Crowley’s eyes only, and took his arm to begin their night. 

The evening was nice, although a bit chilly. Crowley trailed behind the couple at a safe distance, his amber eyes never once leaving the back of Aziraphale’s head. He knew that as a human, Thomas would not be able to sense him there, and the angel was not used to having to watch out for a demonic presence of any sort. Crowley was relatively safe, but that didn’t stop him from jumping out of his skin each and every time the pair slowed their pace to look at one of the stands as they passed.

Crowley had almost blown his cover when Thomas had pulled Aziraphale off their path to stop at a local flower shop. Luckily, there was a newsstand nearby that the demon was quickly able to duck behind to avoid being spotted. He watched through the rack of postcards as the pretty-boy human smiled brightly in Aziraphale’s direction, handing him a single white begonia.

Ice began to crawl down the demon’s spine as he watched the human fasten the flower to Aziraphale’s front pocket. His eyes widened behind the black shades as Aziraphale reached down to take Thomas’ hand, intertwining their fingers as the taller human paid for the solitary blossom. Why was his angel doing this? Did Aziraphale truly have feelings for this man? Did that mean that he was done with Crowley? That he had gotten bored? That the demon was just too much for him to handle?

He and Aziraphale had never displayed romantic tendencies toward each other, despite how much the demon wished that weren’t so. The closest they had gotten was the night that the world didn’t end. Both he and the angel had been exhausted by the day’s events and had hopped on a bus to take them back to London. Crowley had gotten on first, taking a seat by the window so he would have something to rest his head against. He hadn’t stopped to consider where the angel might sit.

There had been plenty of empty seats that night. Aziraphale could have sat anywhere. Crowley expected him to. He’d expected the angel to sit anywhere except for the seat right beside him. The next thing he knew, there he was, an angel sitting beside a demon, reaching out to intertwine their fingers as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

Crowley had never wanted to let go.

For the rest of the night, Crowley alternated between silent fuming and trying not to throw up at the pure sweetness of it all. They sat hand in hand all throughout the play. Crowley had made a seat for himself a few rows behind them, just to the side of one of the pillars. It was a poor seat for viewing the stage, but an excellent one to watch as Thomas’ thumb traced circles on the back of Aziraphale’s hand.

Someone, save him. Crowley was going to murder this bastard if things didn’t start going wrong soon.

After the show, Thomas took Aziraphale to dinner at a nice japanese steakhouse. The demon supposed he should be grateful the human hadn’t chosen the Ritz as their dining location. He might have actually lost his mind if that had been the case. 

Dinner lasted a full two hours as the pair took their time to talk. From across the room at the bar, Crowley couldn’t tell what they were discussing, but he could tell by the smile on Aziraphale’s face that his angel was enjoying it.

Crowley’s heart sank. It should have been him here with Aziraphale tonight.  _ He _ should have been the one to take the angel to that dumb play and sit with him at dinner and buy him flowers. What loser bought a begonia as a sign of romance? And a single one, at that? Crowley would have done much better. If given the chance, Crowley would have brought Aziraphale a whole bouquet of flowers and delivered them straight to the bookshop. He would have smiled softy as Aziraphale gushed over how gorgeous they were and immediately retreated to find them a proper vase to sit in while they went about their evening. He would have picked only the most vibrant ones. A mixture of blues and purples and white. Only the most lovely of flowers for his angel. Carnations and lilies and maybe a hint of babies breath. Sweet smelling and utterly delightful.

Now who was the soft, romantic one?

Finally, the couple paid for their meal and went to stand. Crowley felt his eyes narrow and, without really thinking about it, he sent every vile thought and curse currently swirling around in his mind Thomas’ way.

It was petty, and had he known, Aziraphale probably would have chastised him for such a thing, but Crowley couldn’t help himself. This had probably been one of the worst days of his life, apart from the day he’d driven up to find the bookshop consumed in flames. He deserved something to make him snicker.  _ Something _ that would show him that this wasn’t the absolute perfect date for Aziraphale. Something that gave Crowley hope that he wasn’t losing everything he’d ever cared about.

Nothing stuck. Crowley wasn’t sure if he was wound too tightly to properly distribute a curse or if Thomas’ proximity to Aziraphale protected him, but the two made it out of the restaurant without a single collision with the wait staff, stubbed toe, or jammed door smacking him in the face. The demon scowled, then downed the rest of his glass of scotch before grabbing his scarf and heading out into the night.

They took the long way back to the bookshop, walking hand in hand all the while. Crowley hung back, close enough to keep Aziraphale in his sights, but far enough away that he couldn’t hear them as they spoke. At this point, he wasn’t as much worried about being discovered as he was actually  _ hearing _ what the human and angel were talking about. 

In his mind, the worst possible thing at this point in time would be to hear his angel’s soft voice speaking kindly to someone else. Crowley didn’t know if his fragile heart could handle listening to Aziraphale shower this stranger with all the affection he so desperately craved. Was Aziraphale falling for this human? And if so, given he  _ wasn’t _ actually a danger to Aziraphale, could Crowley take a step back and let him?

As hard as it might be, if Aziraphale wanted this - if he wanted Thomas, charming, talented, kindhearted Thomas - Crowley knew he would leave them be. He knew that there was nothing in this world that the demon wouldn’t do for his angel. No matter how much it might kill him inside.

The thought of allowing Aziraphale to care about someone else, to love someone else other than himself was almost unbearable. Crowley could feel his heart beginning to break already at what he knew was coming. He’d watched enough couples going on enough dates to know how a night like this would end. Still, Crowley stayed. Just to make sure Thomas didn’t try anything. If the human ended his night inside the bookshop, it would be because Aziraphale invited him. No other circumstance would do. 

Moments later, they rounded the corner and arrived at the bookshop doors. Crowley stopped in front of the shop across the street and angled his body so if the couple looked in his direction, they would simply see the back of his head. The demon’s amber eyes focused in on the dark glass in front of him, back of his mind registering that he was standing outside a jewelry shop. It had closed hours ago, which he supposed was good luck. The window showed the couple’s reflection much better with a dark background.

Crowley’s breath stilled in his chest as he watched the reflection of Thomas and Aziraphale saying goodbye on the front stoop of the bookshop. His stomach churned seeing his angel’s bright smile. Up until today, the demon had only ever seen it directed at him. This was the smile that greeted him in Rome when Aziraphale had spotted him at the bar, and in Paris, when he’d materialized in the Bastille. It was the smile that appeared when Crowley had saved a bag of book from being blown to smithereens and the smile that graced Aziraphale’s face as they toasted to the continuation of the world and their new place in it.

It was the smile that made Crowley’s heart soar and his pulse rush and his heart burn with longing. And now, it was being given away to someone else.

For the briefest of moments, the demon closed his eyes, sending up a silent prayer.  _ Why?  _ Why had She made him like this? Why had she placed this angel in his life that he loved so goddamn much and who would never love him back?

When he opened them again, Crowley’s gaze locked in on Aziraphale’s face. Tears pricked at his eyes as he watched the human reach a hand up and place it on the side of the angel’s face. His chest ached as one body leaned in toward the other, one set of lips pressing gently against another.

How many times had Crowley imagined that exact scenario? How many times had he dreamed about how Aziraphale’s lips might feel against his own? How many times had he longed to brush his fingers against the angel’s soft, round cheek? Why did this human get to have everything Crowley had ever wanted? Why did he deserve someone as wonderful as Aziraphale in his life in such a meaningful way more than Crowley did?

Was it his kindness? His patience? His lack of anything evil inside his heart? Was it the simple fact that he was human and Crowley was a demon and  _ he  _ still had the potential for good where Crowley had given that up long ago.

In that moment, Crowley almost walked away. The demon had been a split second from turning around and finding the Bentley parked across the street, although he had most definitely not left it there. There was nothing left to see here. Thomas had left his goodbye kiss on Aziraphale’s lips and the angel was disappearing into the bookshop, face bright red, soft smile still on his lips.

Thomas began to walk away, no doubt heading home to replay the night over and over in his mind. That was what Crowley would have done, had he been in the human’s shoes. Would Aziraphale have invited him inside for drinks if it had been Crowey with him tonight? Would he have smiled with those blue eyes sparkling so if Crowley had been the one to kiss him?

Without anything better to do, Crowley began to follow Thomas. He told himself it was only because the man was walking in the general direction of the demon’s flat. He could always claim to be walking home on his own if spotted, although now that Aziraphale wasn’t here, it didn’t much matter if Thomas saw him.

His suspicions started to grow as the man took a turn down a dark alley. Crowley’s heart leapt into his throat, not because he was worried about what was going to happen next, but because for the first time, this man was actually doing something that could be construed as strange. What was going on? 

Thomas stopped about two dozen steps into the alleyway, next to a large garbage bin and a fire escape that hung several feet above his head. Crowley froze, his amber eyes glancing around, looking for some sign of movement. This was like a scene from a movie, right before some dastardly trap was sprung and the hero was ambushed by half a dozen martial artists or thugs with guns.

Crowley wasn’t afraid of guns or throwing stars, but getting discorporated would be terribly inconvenient. 

“You can come out, Crawly,” the man’s voice said, echoing off the brick walls on either side of him. “I know you’ve been following me all night. Why don’t we have a little chat.”

The demon’s blood went cold. His eyes flew open wide as his mind tried to comprehend what he’d just heard. Surely, he must have misheard. There was no way this human knew his name - his  _ original _ name. Crowley had to be mistaken. He had to be.

Immediately, Crowley’s senses snapped into focus. He used all of his ability to reach out and examine the being standing before him, back still facing him. If Thomas knew his original name, he knew that Crowley was a demon. Any normal human should be terrified at the prospect of facing a demon, especially one who had been on Earth since the beginning. This human was showing no sign of fear or reservation, which either meant he was insane or…

Crowley sensed nothing out of the ordinary. Nothing celestial or infernal in nature. It was wrong. Something should be here. It was the only thing that made sense. The demon pressed further, gritting his teeth with the effort. 

_ There.  _ Crowley sensed something. It was faint - hidden beneath layers and layers of humanity. The barest hint of sulfur and smoke. 

In an instant, Crowley had launched himself forward. The demon-who-called-himself-Thomas turned to face him, baring his teeth in a wicked grin as Crowley threw him up against the wall. The rusting fire escape shuddered under the impact. 

"What are you doing here?" Crowley hissed, sharp fangs glinting in the moonlight. He rarely ever let them grow out these days, but certain situations called for something special. "What do you want with Aziraphale?"

He tried to keep his voice threatening. Tried to keep the panic from edging in. In hindsight, Crowley probably shouldn't have mentioned the angel's real name. He didn't know who this demon was or what he was doing here on Earth. There was a chance, however slight, that this creature had no idea that the object of his affection was an angel. 

Crowley's stomach roiled at the thought. This creature had taken Aziraphale to dinner, touched Aziraphale,  _ kissed _ him. How _dare_ he. Crowley was going to rip him limb from limb. Just as soon as he figured out who he was dealing with and what the demon wanted.

"I harbor no ill will toward him," the demon responded in an even voice. Crowley pressed his arm further into the demon's throat. Would it really be that bad if he discorporated the beast now? He'd be away from Aziraphale for a while, at least. And that was better than the predicament they found themselves in now. "In fact, I want nothing more than to shower him with all the adoration and affection a creature as wonderful as him deserves."

From any other mouth, the sentiment might have seemed sincere - sweet even. This demon's words only succeeded in filling Crowley's entire being with dread. It was impossible to believe him, even for a second. Even though nothing the demon had done up until this point suggested he wished Aziraphale any harm.

He was a demon. And that could only spell bad news.

"You stay away from him!" Crowley was shaking now, with rage or fear or some unknown combination of both, he did not know. "You stay away from Aziraphale. He'sss  _ mine. _ "

The last phrase came out as a desperate hiss and Crowley hoped the other demon would recognize that this was Crowley's territory. London, and more importantly a specific Soho bookshop belonged to him. Crowley was willing to do whatever it took to defend what was his.

Staring back at him with unchanging grey eyes, the other demon smiled. "I will stick around as long as Aziraphale wants me to. Only at his request will I leave."

There was something about those words that stuck with Crowley. They seemed to hold more weight than they should. Around them, the air seemed to drop several degrees in warning. Crowley knew it was all in his head. It had to be.

That didn't make it any less ominous. 

"Are you going to let me go?"

Crowley's eyes flashed dangerously. How dare he be so relaxed about this. Crowley was a force to be reckoned with, especially when his angel's safety was concerned. 

"Tell me," the demon's voice was low. Crowley bared his teeth, saliva dripping from the long slender fangs, "what you want with us."

The demon stared at Crowley for a moment, an amused smile sliding onto his face. This was all a game to him. He was having fun, the bastard!

"If you're not going to kill me, I suggest you let me go." A pause. "I've got things to do."

What else could he do? Crowley wasn't about to take this demon in a fight. He had no idea what he was up against and the dangers of discorperating were too high. He couldn't very well let then demon walk away either. What was to stop him from returning to the bookshop to go after Aziraphale?

Crowley lowered his arm and took a step back, eyes never leaving the demon's smug face. "This is your final warning. Leave. Him. Alone."

The demon saluted, the amusement evident on his face. "Consider me warned."

In the blink of an eye, he disappeared into the darkness, not exactly miracling himself away, but rather fading into the shadows until his form was no longer visible.

As soon as he was gone, Crowley pulled out his cellphone. Before the first ring sounded, he was already on the move. 

"Crowley?" Anathema sounded surprised to hear from him. "I haven't been able to find much on him yet. Nothing other than what you've already told me. I'm going to need some more time."

"Forget what I told you before," the demon interrupted, not even bothering to look both ways before stepping out into the street. "We need an entirely new plan."

He practically raced back to the bookshop, miracling a heavy, curved metal object into his hand. It felt cool to the touch now, but from experience, the demon knew it wouldn't stay that way for long. 

"We're dealing with a demon. Focus your research on that. I'll call back when I know more."

Crowley hung up, pausing as he rounded the corner and the bookshop came into sight. The lights were on, shining outward like a beacon, guiding him home. If he squinted, the demon could see Aziraphale seated at his writing desk by the window. Relief flashed through him. His angel was safe.

The demon stopped just outside the bookshop and looked up. The doorway was old and built with a sturdy frame. A little on the high side, but Crowley was tall. And he could always miracle hp other tools as he needed them.

Glancing down at the object in his hand, Crowley got to work. He had no way to know how much time he had before the demon showed his face again. Crowley wasn't about to let another second go by without Aziraphale having the utmost protection from demons of any kind.

And that included himself. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two chapters in one day! I am on a roll :) hopefully you guys liked this one. I had fun writing it. Let me know what you think in the comments!


	12. Interlude: London Suburbs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Leslie, the International Delivery Man, attempts to have a nice quiet evening at home.

Autumn evenings were Leslie’s favorite time of the year. There was just something about sitting outside under a bright starry sky, with a collection of lawn chairs gathered around a warm fire. More often than not, from mid-September to the end of November, the International Express Man could be found sitting on his back patio, enjoying a glass of cold beer as he gazed up at the stars.

On this particular evening, his wife had chosen to sit with him, her arm stretched out, hand gently resting on his knee as she expertly flipped from one page to another using just the thumb on the hand currently holding up her book. It was one of those romance novels - the ones with the super predictable plot lines that Leslie didn’t much care for, but Maud simply adored. He didn’t bother asking her about it, choosing to simply enjoy his drink in silence.

Eventually, the embers turned to coals and the firelight died down enough for Maud to close her book. She placed it gently in her lap and reached over with her now free hand, placing it on the far side of his face. Leslie turned in eagerly toward her, closing his eyes as her soft lips met his in a firm kiss.

“I love you, tiger,” she murmured, brown eyes sparkling in the moonlight. “Don’t stay up too late. And try not to drink too many more of those.”

“I love you too,” he whispered back, ignoring her comment about the beer. Leslie didn’t drink all that much, compared to other people, but according to his wife, he slept much better without alcohol messing up his system. The man was sure it was some sort of health magazine mumbo jumbo, but if it would make his wife happy, Leslie was inclined to try.

The man sighed, turning to face the dying embers once more. Leslie could have easily put them out, but something about dumping a bucket full of water on them seemed a waste. The embers would die on their own eventually, and the man was in no hurry to go to bed. Tomorrow was the weekend, which meant he could relax all morning if he chose.

Watching the stars had become one of the man’s favorite pastimes. He couldn’t really put words to it, but _ something _had happened to him six months ago. It had involved a truck and a figure in black and billions upon billions of stars. Leslie had never told anyone about that day. It was hazy at best, and the man wasn’t entirely sure he hadn’t dreamt the whole thing up. 

Before then, he’d never really noticed the stars. Of course, he’d seen them. Thousands of times. But Leslie had never truly _ seen _ them until he’d been surrounded by them. Until they had suffocated him on all sides, squeezing the life force from him and filling him with something new - something indescribably brilliant.

He was pretty sure he had died that day. Although there was nothing to possibly prove that statement. 

Some indeterminate time later, Leslie rose to his feet. He’d finished the beer some time ago and had placed the empty glass on the stone rim of the fire pit to remind himself to bring it inside and throw it in the waste bin. Shuffling over, he raked a heap of ash over the smouldering coals and made his way inside the small suburban house.

Maud was asleep when he climbed into the pillowtop queen bed, but she shifted closer to him, eyes never opening. He wrapped his arm around her stomach, feeling the soft cool silk of her nightgown. Smiling, the man shut his eyes and sleep came to find him.

It was impossible to tell how much time had passed when Leslie next opened his eyes. He hadn’t bothered to look at the clock before climbing into bed, and his instincts stopped him from looking now. 

For the briefest moment, at the edge of the sleeping world and the waking one, Leslie had thought he’d heard movement in the room. A loud thud followed by the sliding of a window and creaking of floorboards. He’d woken with a start, eyes wide and unseeing. Maud still slept soundly beside him, curled up against the covers that he’d thrown from his body at some point during the night.

There were four figures standing at the foot of his bed, outlined by the moonlight. In an instant, Leslie knew he was dreaming. How else would he explain the presence of both angels and demons in his modest London home?

That was surely what they were. Humanoid figures on one side with wide white wigs and flecks of gold against their skin. On the other, figures hunched and dark, with sallow skin and beady black eyes. All four figures had their eyes fixed on him.

Slowly, Leslie sat up.

“Can I help you?”

What else were you supposed to say to imaginary eternal beings? Especially when they were standing in your bedroom in the middle of the night.

“We’re looking for a sword.” The feminine looking one said. She had long hair piled on top of her head and thin golden lips that seemed to shimmer even though there was hardly any light in the room.

A sword? Whatever were they talking about? What sword? And why had they come to him looking for it?

“A sword,” his mouth echoed the words bouncing around in his mind.

“Yes you idiot!” the figure furthest to his left snarled. This one looked like a man, with glittering black eyes peering out through a sunken grey face. “A sword. You had one in your possession about six months ago. At Tadfield airbase.”

Leslie stared at the being for a moment, aware that by all means, he should be terrified. Except, this was a dream, and they couldn’t hurt him here.

“Sorry,” now that they’d given him some detail, the man knew exactly what object they were looking for. “I’m just the delivery man. I picked it up from that nice gentleman with the tartan bow-tie and dropped it off at its next destination. I don’t have the sword anymore.”

They all seemed to bristle at this declaration. Whether it was because of his lack of possession of a sword or the mention of the man he’d gotten it from, Leslie did not know. 

“Where is it now?” The other angel asked, the contrast of her dark skin causing the golden flecks on her face to glow much brighter.

According to International Delivery guidelines, Leslie should not have answered that question. He also should not have had four beings standing in his bedroom in the wee hours of the morning.

As far as Leslie could tell he had two choices. He could tell these creatures where the sword was and let them figure out what to do next. Or, he could keep his mouth shut, like protocol dictated and send the away empty handed.

Before making the decision, the man had two other possibilities to consider. If this really was a dream, there would be no harm in divulging the information. He couldn’t be held accountable for what his dream-self did. None of it was real, which meant there was absolutely nothing wrong in telling them the location of the sword they were seeking.

On the other hand, if this was somehow actually real - if he wasn’t dreaming - if he was truly awake, that changed absolutely everything. No longer was he sitting in his bed dealing with some strange imaginary angels and demons, he was dealing with the real thing. And Leslie knew from experience that he did not want to be dealing with the real thing any longer than he had to.

Either way, there seemed to be only one response.

“I delivered it to the Museum of London. To use in one of their displays. Not sure which one.”

A heartbeat later they were gone. Leslie blinked, just to be sure he wasn’t hallucinating, although he didn’t know exactly how that would help things. If he really was seeing things, blinking wouldn’t make them go away.

It was odd, he thought, as he shifted back down into the bed, pressing himself up against his wife. They hadn’t left in the same way they’d come. He could have sworn they had landed on the roof and come through a window. But the window was shut tight. And when the figures had left, they seemed to just blink out of existence.

Strange. Very strange. This wasn’t the first inexplicable thing to happen to him lately, but Leslie hoped it would be the last. He rather liked his simple, normal life.

Maybe he _ should _lay off the alcohol before bed.

* * *

The Museum of London was one of the most secure buildings in the entire city. It had state of the art cameras and sensors to trigger a warning bell whenever someone tried to sneak in and steal an item that didn’t belong to them. This had never happened in all the years the museum had been open. As a result, the security team was quite proud of themselves. 

One evening, in the middle of autumn, a single sword was removed from the ‘War, Plague, and Fire’ display. No sensors picked up the intrusion. No alarms sounded. They had been trained to look for broken locks and shattered glass. There was nothing out of the ordinary to report when four beings materialized out of nothing. Nothing to say when one of them with the pearly white wings snapped their fingers and the sword in the central display case went from one side of the glass to the other. The security cameras didn’t even bother taking notes. Why should they when they’d been properly convinced that angels and demons simply didn’t exist?

Three of the four figures left immediately after the sword had been reclaimed. The fourth, a white haired figure with beady black eyes and a long tan trench coat, remained. He looked around the room for a while, eyes shifting from one display case to another. With a soft chuckle that would have been absolutely terrifying to any human that might have heard it, the demon snapped his fingers and was gone, leaving a spark of flame in his wake.

Now, the security cameras started paying attention, but by some unfortunate circumstance, the guard monitoring the system had decided at that precise moment to take a nap. The fire burned for thirty minutes before anyone noticed. 

Nothing was damaged except the curtains around the windows, and they were easy enough to replace. No one was hurt. All in all, it was a successful night for the firefighters. They all went out to brunch the morning after their shift to celebrate. 

In the time between the disappearance of the four figures and the arrival of the fire department, the cameras caught one more strange thing appearing within the blaze. This one was a doozie, and caused some contention on whether they should bother recording the event or not. On the one hand, the fire was important to keep a record of and that was their job. On the other hand, people didn’t just appear out of flames, no matter how hot they burned. There was no point in taking notes of something that shouldn’t rightly exist.

Were they supposed to keep a record of the precise way the flames coalesced in the center of the room to form a new humanoid figure? Tall, feminine, with flaming red hair and a smile that would cause men to kill for her. She was beautiful in the way that forest fires were beautiful: something to be admired from a distance, not up close.

Ultimately, the cameras decided against it, and just before the firefighters arrived, the woman breathed in deep and walked away from the fire, down the main staircase, and out into the London night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, guys. Things are really starting to happen now. I'm hoping to keep a pretty regular update schedule (as I tend to write more the more exciting things get), between once a day and once every other day. I hope you all are enjoying this story so far!
> 
> Comments and kudos make my day, so feel free to leave them! I absolutely live for feedback.


	13. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale hears some disturbing news about his new friend.

Aziraphale made a beeline for the back of his shop the moment the door was closed. His stomach was in knots, heart all aflutter, and the angel was sure his face had permanently turned a deep shade of red. He needed something to calm himself down - a nice cup of hot tea or cocoa. Perhaps even something a bit stronger, after the night he’d just had.

All in all, the date was rather lovely. Aziraphale had absolutely adored the musical and dinner had been superb. The conversation had flowed between himself and Thomas, never once coming to an awkward pause. He’d had a wonderful time. 

_ Except _ . Aziraphale felt himself frowning. Except for the way his stomach had never stopped feeling like it was about to leap out of his throat. Except for the way his hands had trembled, even when Thomas had reached out to hold them. Except for the way his heart ached now, knowing that it should have been Crowley with him that night and not Thomas. Crowley should have been the one to stop and buy him flowers. Crowley should have been the one to hold his hand in the theater, leaning in to whisper in his ear whenever he found something to make fun of, which would have been often.  _ Crowley  _ should have been the one to sit with him at dinner. 

Crowley should have been the one to kiss him goodnight.

This had not been Aziraphale’s first kiss. At one point in history, a soft kiss on the lips had been a form of friendly greeting. The angel had lost count exactly how many humans he had kissed, but none of them had meant nearly as much as this one had. 

Why was that? Why had this kiss felt so different from all the others? In addition to not being his first kiss, this was not the first time Aziraphale had been the subject of a human’s affections. He understood why they were drawn to him and in the past, he had always done his best to stay their advances. He knew there was no future with any of them. Humans lived such short lives. Allowing himself to love one of them, to really  _ love _ them, would only lead to heartbreak. 

Aziraphale felt a tear roll down his cheek as he miracled himself a cup of cocoa. He was in no state to make it from scratch. The angel’s eyes drifted over the bookshop and came to a stop at his writing desk. Suddenly, Aziraphale felt like he was going to pass out. He needed to sit down.

The mug of hot chocolate sloshed dangerously as he took a seat and stared sightlessly at the stacks of books and papers strewn around him. More tears began to fall and Aziraphale buried his face in his hands, hot chocolate completely forgotten. 

He should call Crowley. Aziraphale should call his friend and apologize for what he’d said. He should ask the demon to come over so they could get drunk together and talk philosophy and literature and classic cars and whatever Crowley wanted to talk about. Aziraphale would do anything just to have his best friend here by his side now.

Sitting up and wiping his eyes, the angel looked around for his phone. He reached for the receiver, fingers hovering over the numbers, heart hammering away in his chest. What was he supposed to say? Would Crowley even want to see him after what had happened? What if the demon wasn’t home? What if he  _ was _ home and didn’t want to see Aziraphale? 

The moment Aziraphale’s fingers brushed against the first number, he heard a loud banging on the bookshop door. It was sharper than a usual knock, reverberating through the very structure of the building. The angel paused, slowly placing the receiver back down where it belonged. A second later, the noise stopped.

With his enhanced hearing, Aziraphale could hear muffled cursing from the other side of the door. What was going on here? Who was at his front door, and what did they want?

The noise started up again just as the angel went to stand. Four sharp knocks and then a hiss of pain before something clattered to the sidewalk below. Aziraphale crossed the rest of the room in a heartbeat and flung open the door.

Crowley was kneeling on the ground at his feet, one hand wrapped around a curved metal object, a hammer in the other. At the sound of the door opening, the demon looked up with wide yellow eyes, his sunglasses mysteriously gone from his face. In an instant, Aziraphale saw several emotions flash through the demon’s eyes. Relief, joy, apprehension, determination.

Fear.

Aziraphale felt his heart leap in his chest as his blue eyes drifted from the demon’s face to the hand that was currently wrapped around a horseshoe of all things.

“Didn’t mean to bother you,” Crowley muttered as he stood up, amber eyes never leaving Aziraphale’s face. “Harder to hang up than it looks. Kind of like trying to put a lightbulb in with the switch on.”

What?

The thought must have slipped out of his mouth, because in the next second a frown appeared on Crowley’s face as the demon held up the horseshoe between them. “It’s like a lightbulb. You know - “ the demon broke off, clearly trying to gather his thoughts in a coherent manner. Aziraphale kept his mouth shut and waited. “It starts off cool, like a normal lightbulb from a box. And then you start twisting it in, but someone left the switch on. So when the - “

Crowley broke off again, his gaze drifting up to the doorway. “When the electrical stuff connects the lightbulb turns on and gets, you know, hot?”

Aziraphale waited for more of an explanation, but his friend did not offer one. Slowly, the angel’s eyes drifted back down to Crowley’s hand. For the first time, he noticed the normally pale skin was an angry red in several places. Aziraphale felt his stomach lurch when his mind finally made the connection.

“Are you trying to hang a horseshoe above my door?” Was he insane? What had possessed Crowley to do that? “Crowley, do you realize how dangerous that is? You could have been seriously hurt, not to mention you’d be actively locking yourself out of the bookshop, for good.”

The thought was nearly unbearable. Why would Crowley want to bar himself from Aziraphale’s home? They had so many fond memories here. Why would he want to set up a barrier keeping him out? Was this Crowley’s way of telling Aziraphale he wasn’t interested in coming around anymore?

His heart sunk as Crowley rolled his amber eyes. “Of course I know how dangerous it is, angel. That’s the whole point, isn’t it?”

At least he was still calling Aziraphale ‘angel’. That had to mean something, didn’t it? Maybe things weren't as dire between them as the angel feared. “I’m sorry, my dear boy, I’m afraid that I am a bit lost. Why don’t you put that...thing down and come inside. We can share a nice bottle of wine and - “

“No, Aziraphale!” The outburst caused the angel’s eyes to open wide. Why was Crowley so upset? What had happened to make him act this way? “You’re not safe! I can’t - I won’t - I need to make sure that you’re safe. Nothing else matters.”

Aziraphale felt as though he should be touched by the sentiment, except he still didn’t understand what was going on. Crowley obviously thought he was in some kind of danger. If he had to guess, he would have to say the danger was from something demonic in nature, if the horseshoe was any indication. Did something happen? Had Hell finally made an appearance after six months of radio silence?

“Crowley, my dear, what happened? Are you alright?” He leaned in closer to the demon, blue eyes glancing around for any sign that they were being watched. “Did your head office contact you?”

In an instant, Crowley’s hands were gripping Aziraphale’s arms and the angel found himself being pushed roughly back into the bookshop. The door slammed loudly behind them, rattling several of the knick-knacks the angel had laying around on his desk and several of the bookshelves. He had the sudden urge to turn around and make sure nothing had fallen off onto the floor, but the intense look in Crowley’s eyes had the angel completely captivated. Aziraphale’s heart was beating rapidly in his chest at their close proximity, his mind flying back to a moment before the apocalypse in an old hospital where a very similar scene had played out.

“Crowley, please.” Aziraphale was on the edge of panic now. Why was his friend acting this way? Hell _ had _ contacted him. That was the only explanation. He should have known their freedom was too good to be true. It was only a matter of time before they were found out. Aziraphale had been a fool to hope that they would finally be left alone. That they could finally be something other that secret acquaintances. “Talk to me.”

“He’s a demon,” Crowley growled, amber eyes flicking around the room, looking for something that only the demon was privy to. The pressure of his hands were still on Aziraphale’s arms and the angel found himself wishing he could reach up and take Crowley’s hands in his, if only to calm his friend. 

“Pardon?” Aziraphale’s voice caught in his throat. There had been very few times he had seen Crowley this frazzled before. The last time had been on the airstrip in Tadfield as the earth had shook beneath their feet and they were moments away from the end of everything. 

“Thomas,” the demon rasped, his voice failing. Aziraphale felt his heart clench in his chest as the name echoed around him. “Or whatever the  _ fuck _ his real name is. He’s a demon, Aziraphale.”

Silence fell around the pair as they stood there, foreheads mere inches apart, hands grasped firmly on each other’s arms. Aziraphale’s breaths were labored, a mixture of anxiety and excitement, his brain warring with itself over the words the demon in his bookshop had just spoken.

“What?”

A low growl escaped Crowley’s throat as he suddenly released Aziraphale’s arms. The angel almost reflexively reached out to grab his hand, but stopped himself at the last minute. “Keep  _ up _ Aziraphale! I’m telling you that your boy-toy is a full fledged spawn of Hell.”

In that moment, a very strange thing happened to the angel. At once, his mind seemed to split clean in two, one side filling with fear and panic at the thought that Crowley’s words could be true. Thomas, a demon? How was that possible? It couldn't be true, and yet, Crowley wouldn’t lie about this. A million questions began to flood the angel’s mind and Aziraphale had no idea how to go about answering them. He immediately began scrutinizing every interaction he and Thomas had ever had, looking for something he might have missed.

The other half of his mind immediately rejected the idea, starting to scrutinize the demon standing in front of him instead. How had Crowley even gotten this idea into his head? Surely if Thomas  _ had _ been a demon, Aziraphale would have noticed. He always knew when Crowley was nearby. All demons carried a certain...presence about them. A scent. It would have been impossible to miss.

So why was Crowley lying?

Looking back up at Crowley’s face, Aziraphale realized the demon was waiting for him to say something. The two halves of his mind fused together once more and words began tumbling from Aziraphale’s mouth before he could stop them.

“What makes you say that?”

Crowley’s amber eyes widened. “Because he bloody told me, Aziraphale!” The angel watched as his friend raised a shaking hand to his face, rubbing at it furiously, trying to compose himself. “I followed him home and he - “

“Stop.”

Aziraphale’s words rang out sharp and clean and the demon immediately shut his mouth, golden eyes drifting toward the floor in what the angel could only assume was shame, if he believed Crowley could feel such a thing.

Crowley had followed Thomas home, which meant Crowley had also followed them around on their date. He had seen them hold hands, laugh together, talk together. He had seen Thomas kiss Aziraphale goodnight.

“You followed me. On my date.” It was not a question. Crowley’s eyes flashed up to his face and got stuck on his shining blue eyes.

“I - “ the words seemed to fail him as Aziraphale stared across the room at the demon. “Aziraphale - “

“No.” The angel interrupted again. He could not believe this. Why would Crowley do this? Why would he invade such a personal moment like this? Even if he had been worried that Aziraphale was in some kind of danger, there were certainly better ways to go about doing it. Why hadn’t he just come and talked to Aziraphale? Why go through all the trouble to  _ stalk  _ him? “Crowley, what could have possible possessed you to follow me? I don’t even know what to think, let alone say to you right now.”

The hurt was seeping through his voice, and Aziraphale could tell that Crowely could hear it. His weight shifted back and forth from one foot to the other, but the demon never once lowered his gaze. “Aziraphale, angel, I  _ tried _ to go about this the right way, but I kept coming up empty handed. There’s nothing on the internet on this guy, Anathema couldn’t do anything to help. I was running out of options.”

“You could have  _ talked  _ to me, Crowley,” the angel huffed, choosing to focus on the one part of his friend’s statement he actually understood. He wasn’t all that familiar with the internet and Aziraphale had no idea what Anathema had to do with anything of this. “Instead of  _ spying _ on my evening out.”

Crowley scoffed. “That’s what you’re choosing to fixate on? I’m standing here telling you the bloke you just snogged is a full-blown demon and you’re upset that I was keeping an eye on you?”

A scowl made its way onto Aziraphale’s face. In the back of his mind, he realized he probably should have been more concerned with Crowley’s claim. Maybe he should be dissecting that instead of how his friend had acted, but something in Aziraphale’s brain wouldn’t let it go. He found it impossible to think badly of Thomas. Crowley was mistaken. He had to be. 

“What exactly did he say?” Aziraphale asked, voice taut. “To make you think Thomas is a demon?”

“He practically  _ told _ me, Aziraphale.” Crowley sighed, bringing his hand to his face once more. “He called me ‘Crawly’. He knew I was following you. He - “

Crowley’s face contorted for a moment. What was he thinking about? What could Thomas have said to possibly make the demon react in such a way?

“Anything else you wanted to add?” Aziraphale asked after it became perfectly clear that Crowley would not be continuing with his thought.

The demon gritted his teeth. He took a deep breath, fists clenching at his sides. Still, he did not speak.

"Tell me what he said, Crowley." The angel was at his limit. He'd bad just about enough of whatever this was. Aziraphale had no idea if Crowley was playing some kind of game with him - if he was jealous of all the time the angel was spending with his new friend. Or maybe the stress they'd both been under had finally gotten to him. Whatever the reason, Aziraphale was done.

"He said he didn't wish you any harm," the demon muttered, still averting his eyes. "After I threatened him, he said he wouldn't leave you unless you asked him to."

Threatened him? What was Crowley thinking? He couldn't go around just threatening innocent humans willy-nilly. Thomas was a kind, gentle man. He didn't deserve to be hassled by a demon, even one as harmless as Crowley. 

Although, when Aziraphale was concerned, Crowley may not be so harmless.

"Well," the angel stated quietly, with all the hardness he could muster. "That seems pretty clear to me."

“Don’t be an idiot, Aziraphale," Crowley shot back immediately, guilt flashing in his eyes the moment they met the angel's hard gaze.

“Get out.”

The words fell from the angel’s lips before he could stop them. He hadn’t meant to be so harsh, not really, but this was getting to be too much for him. What he needed now was some breathing space. Some time away from Crowley and Thomas where he could just...think this whole thing through. Without distractions. Without voices yelling in his ear telling him what to think and feel. Aziraphale needed some time alone.

“I mean it, Crowley,” he reiterated, gesturing toward the door. “I want you to leave.”

The demon’s eyes widened. “For how long?” Aziraphale did not miss the waiver in his voice. The sound of it broke his heart. 

“For as long as I need.”

With one final look of despair and longing, the demon that had become his very best friend hung his head and walked back out the door, leaving Aziraphale completely and utterly alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope everyone is having a wonderful weekend! If you're enjoying this story so far, feel free to leave some feedback for me. I absolutely live for comments <3 The more I get the more excited I am to keep writing the story!


	14. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley, Newton, and Anathema brainstorm what to do next.

They met at the library in Tadfield. According to Book Gi - Anathema, it was the most logical place for them to meet. There were plenty of private rooms they could duck into where they could talk privately and  _ books _ if they needed to look up any information.

Crowley groaned, slipping further down into his chair. If only Aziraphale could see him now. 

And that was the problem, wasn’t it? Aziraphale hadn’t so much as looked at him in two weeks. He was still upset over their last fight, and although Crowley had tried to call a dozen times, the angel had refused to pick up.

“Alright,” Anathema began, setting her notebook out in front of her, lining up several pencils and pens beside it. “Shall we get started?”

He watched as she looked around the room. The scene reminded him of those interrogation bits in all the cop movies, where the suspect is seated on one side of the table and all the cops asking questions were on the other. It was only him, seated on one side of the table, facing Anathema and her boyfriend on the other. Crowley could never seem to remember his name, not that it really mattered. Anathema was the one he was really here to see, and if she saw fit to bring this fool around to lend a hand and fetch things for them, who was he to judge? 

“What is it you need to know?”

The last time he had visited, Anathema had promised to help him do a bit of research on Thomas Alby. Back then, they had assumed he was some human that had gotten really good at hiding who he truly was. All the witch had was a name, and there was a good chance it had been made up entirely. Crowley had not really been surprised to find she had been unable to come up with any useful information.

Now things were different.  _ Now  _ Crowley knew they were dealing with a demon, which explained the lack of information on the internet. No demon, other than himself, had visited Earth long enough to understand the intricacies of human existence. He doubted any of them even knew what the internet was, let alone how to use it. 

So, a demon coming for an extended stay on earth would be able to manipulate memories to give himself ‘friends’ and neighbors and people who knew him from his childhood. But he wouldn’t have known to create a digital footprint. That had been his second mistake.

The first mistake had been to move in on Crowley’s angel.

“Do you know who he is?” Anathema asked quietly. “This demon. Have you met him before?”

Crowley shook his head. “Impossible to tell.” Silence fell between them and Crowley realized after a moment that Anathema was waiting for him to elaborate.

Right. He forgot, sometimes, just how little these two knew about everything. They’d stood with him through the end of the world, but that didn’t mean the humans had understood even a fraction of what had transpired that day or any of the days leading up to it.

“There are roughly ten million demons in Hell,” Crowley explained. “And I’ve been up here since the beginning. Didn’t really leave a lot of time to make friends.”

“Since the beginning?” the boyfriend’s voice sounded confused. Crowley didn’t really understand why. It wasn’t like what he’d said was such a hard concept to comprehend. Although, come to think of it, the man hardly ever wore an expression on his face that wasn’t some level of bewildered puzzlement. 

“Yeah, yeah,” Crowley waved the comment off like it was no big deal. To him, it wasn’t. “I’m sure you know the whole story by now. The snake and the apple and all that jazz.”

Both sets of human eyes widened. “I’m sorry.” Now it was Anathema’s turn to look shocked. “Are you implying that  _ you _ are the Serpent of Eden.”

The demon rolled his eyes. “I believe the correct thing to say would be that you two are  _ inferring _ that is who I am.” He leaned back in his chair, readjusting his glasses so they fit flush against his face. “It would be a correct assumption.”

Once again, the two humans fell silent. Sighing, Crowley shifted so his weight was more evenly distributed, placing his elbows firmly on the wooden table that sat between them. “Look,” the demon stated, fixing both his eyes on the pair. “I’d be happy to come over to your house and have a little chat about the entire history of the world some other day.”

“Right,” Anathema said suddenly, looking back down at her empty page. “So no chance that you know this particular demon?”

Again, Crowley shrugged. “There’s always a chance. When demons come to Earth for an extended period of time, they’re issued a vessel. A body, basically, that lets them blend in and not draw any unnecessary attention.”

The witch nodded, brown eyes glistening as sunlight began to drift in through the window. “So there’s a chance that he’s using a body you wouldn’t recognize.”

“Even still,” Crowley protested, his mind returning to that night, remembering just how  _ difficult _ it had been to sense anything demonic around the creature. “Demons tend to have a certain sense about them. Almost like a scent. I could barely pick anything up from him at all.”

“But you did pick something up?” Anathema pressed, leaning forward, her pen hovering less than an inch over the page. “You’re sure he’s a demon.”

“Of course, I’m sure,” Crowley hissed. There could be no way he could be anything else. The question eating away at Crowley every day was ‘why?’ Why did this demon come to earth? Why had he gone for Aziraphale? Hell was supposed to view  _ him  _ as the traitor. They should have come straight for him, but instead this demon had obviously targeted the angel. Why? 

“Hang on,” the demon continued, an idea forming in the back of his mind. “The first time I met this other demon, he was talking with Aziraphale outside his bookshop. Every other time I’ve run into him, he’s been with Aziraphale. He’s never once sought me out. Even when I was talking to him one on one, it was because I followed  _ him. _ ”

Anathema was furiously scribbling down line after line on her paper. Crowley hesitated for a moment, the thought he’d just had taking root in his mind. “He’s going after the angel on purpose. Not to hurt Aziraphale, but to hurt  _ me _ .”

A wide smile broke out onto the demon’s face, but it was accompanied by narrowed eyes and sharp glinting teeth.

“And…” the boyfriend trailed off, the look of utter confusion never leaving his face. “You’re happy this demon is targeting your friend?”

Crowley fixed him a look like he was a complete idiot. Naturally, the man couldn’t see it behind the demon’s sunglasses, but he wasn’t about to remove them just to make the young man feel ridiculous, no matter how much glee Crowley might have gotten from the act. “Of course! Don’t you see? There are only a few demons in all of Hell that would be smart enough to pull something like this off. Most of them can barely wrap their small brains around the concept that there is any other kind of pain besides physical.”

“Names, Crowley,” Anathema demanded. “I need names in order to narrow down our suspect list. Newton and I can’t do any sort of research unless we know who we’re looking for.”

“Great,” the boyfriend mumbled, crossing his arms in what could be considered a combination of frustration and a sudden onset of anxiety. “First I get recruited to be a witchfinder. And now I’m hunting demons. What has this world come to?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” a soft smirk appeared on the woman’s lips as she turned to face her partner. “You last assignment landed you some interesting perks. I wouldn’t discount this one so fast.”

Crowley ignored the quip, his mind already cycling through all the demons he knew that would harbor enough of a grudge against him to come after him a second time when holy water had failed them, and who would be smart enough to use his connection with Aziraphale to do it.

To his knowledge, not many of the residents of Hell even knew about Aziraphale or anything else on Earth for that matter. They all had their jobs, and most stuck to them. Only a handful of demons had ever visited Earth or knew that Crowley even still lived up there. Like he said before, he hadn’t stayed in Hell long after the Fall. He doubted there were more than a few hundred demons that even knew his name, other than whatever excuse Beelzebub had given them when the war had been canceled. 

In his mind, a few hundred was a much better place to start than a pool of ten million candidates. 

“Beelzebub and Dagon,” the demon began his list, thinking of how inconvenient it must have been for them to get all the demons of Hell back to work after the flubbed Apocalypse. They certainly had motive to want to torture him and harm Aziraphale in the process. And they were smart enough to cook up a plan like this. “Hastur certainly hates me enough to come after me again, but he’s not smart enough to do it on his own.”

Anathema continued jotting down names as Crowley went through a mental list of all the higher class demons. Marchosias, Belial, Dantalion, Mammon - demons that may not have as strong a motivation, but who would certainly have the creativity to think outside of the box when it came to punishment and who may even enjoy themselves while doing it. The demon who had spoken to Crowley had made it sound like he was playing a game. He couldn’t count out sheer entertainment as the sole driving motivation, rather than a hatred for Crowley’s involvement in saving the world.

“Do any of them have special abilities?”

The question came out of nowhere and Crowley was shocked into silence. He turned his gaze on the tall, lanky human who had asked it, amber eyes wide.

“Are you asking me if any of these demons have superpowers?” To call it an idiotic question would be an understatement, except...did this bumbling fool actually have a point? All demons could perform miracles, but Crowley was the only one that he knew of that could stop time. It was possible some of the others had abilities that he didn’t know about.

“Yeah,” The man continued, undeterred by Crowley’s disapproving tone. “You did say earlier that you had a hard time sensing him, right? Maybe some demons have powers that disguise themselves from other demons. Or maybe he’s possessing some actual human’s body, rather than getting one from Hell.”

Both Crowley and Anathema turned to look at him. The man huffed in frustration. “I don’t know!” His hands quickly found their way to his pockets. “I’m just spouting ideas here. That’s why you invited me, right? I’m clueless when it comes to this stuff, you both know that. I just assumed I was here to throw out the crazy ideas and maybe something would stick.”

Crowley watched with disgust as Anathema reached out a hand and wrapped it gently around the man’s wrist. She smiled up at him and he smiled back and the demon could practically feel the love between them. It made him suddenly very nauseous.

It made him think of Aziraphale.

“To be honest, which is not a thing demons do very often, so count yourselves lucky,” Crowley began leaning back in his chair, drawing their attention away from each other and back on him. “I have no idea if any of the demons I’ve already listed or any of the others have unique powers. Like I said before, I don’t know them all that well. Beelzebub and Dagon are kind of my ex-bosses, I suppose you could say, but as far as I know, they haven’t made many trips up here. I wouldn’t have any knowledge of what sorts of things they could or couldn’t do.”

The demon wished he had paid more attention over the years. Maybe if he had, something would make its way into his brain and he would have some bit of useful information to help them figure out who they were dealing with and just what they needed to do to stop them.

“Well,” Anathema began, sitting up straight in her seat, hand drifting upward to adjust her glasses. “It’s a good thing we’re in a library, then, isn’t it? Gentlemen, why don’t you go find yourselves some books. I think we’ve got enough of a list to start.”

The demon groaned, but rose to his feet. He should be grateful these two humans were agreeing to help him. They’d helped last time, but the end of the world had been at stake then. Now, at least from what he could tell, it was only a single angel and demon that were at risk. Still, they chose to stand by his side.

He wondered, briefly, whether they were actually doing it for his sake, or if this was all to save Aziraphale. Crowley supposed it didn’t matter. As long as his angel was safe at the end of the day, he would be happy. 

Still, it was nice to think that, maybe, just maybe, he might have found some more allies that one day the demon might be able to call friends. 

“Let’s get this blasted party started, shall we?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short chapter this time. I'm feeling a bit under the weather today, but really wanted to get something out to all of you. Hopefully it was alright. Hope everyone is still enjoying the story! I'll see you again soon.


	15. Interlude: Heaven - the Observation Room

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Remiel does some digging on the humans involved in the Day the World Didn't End.

Time moved differently in the Heavenly Realm, and Remiel had never actually been down to Earth to draw a comparison to exactly how long she had been working at her task. Suffice to say, it felt simultaneously like a very long time and absolutely no time at all.

There was just so much to  _ see _ when dealing with Earth and the humans that inhabited it. For pretty much all of her existence, Remiel had steered clear of the planet, and for good reason. Her job, as an Archangel, was to oversee a group of lesser angels and guide the souls of the righteous to where they belonged. As far as she could see, there was no point in getting involved any earlier. Not all souls made it to Heaven. Why go around getting attached when she could spare herself the heartache by waiting until they arrived at the pearly gates?

Gabriel had tasked her with tracking down the humans that had been present during the botched Apocalypse. Technically speaking, the seven Archangels were on equal ground and Remiel didn’t have to do anything Gabriel asked of her. Most of the time, she didn’t, choosing to pass along the task to one of her million subordinates. In this instance, she didn’t mind. Her angels were perfectly suited to the task, as they were the ones who watched over the souls of each and every human that walked the Earth. It would be easy enough to get one of them to show her how it was done.

And that was how, some indeterminable time later, Remiel found herself seated at a desk surrounded by a million other desks, looking down at the image of a young girl seated at a table, drawing pictures in a book. Anathema Device was one of nine humans she had added to her list to investigate. They had all been a part of the events that took place at Tadfield Airbase and Remiel was determined to learn as much about them as she could, jotting everything down in a spiral bound purple notebook she had materialized for herself to help keep everything organized.

So far, nothing seemed to stick out to her. They all just seemed like ordinary humans who happened to be in the right place at the right time. Even the child, Adam Young, the supposed Antichrist, didn’t seem all that special, apart from the short stint when he had come into his powers.

Reaching up a hand, Remiel brushed her fingers against the mini globe that sat at the corner of the opaque white desk. The image in front of her paused then rewound, then shifted to another one entirely as her fingers brushed a different part of the globe. 

She’d watched each of their lives nearly a hundred times and with each repetition, Remiel found herself noticing something new. Over and over again, she’d revisited her notes, crossed things out, added new phrases, expounded upon things that had already been jotted down. The Archangel was so captivated by what she’d seen that even when Uriel approached her desk, Remiel did not pause in her investigation. 

The other Archangel cleared her throat three times before Remiel bothered to look up, one pair of brown eyes meeting the other. Uriel looked down, jaw set firmly, eyebrows raised just enough that she would have been intimidating if Remiel had cared even a little bit what the other angel thought. 

Instead of saying anything, like Remiel knew Uriel wanted her to do, the Archangel simply stared up and smiled. Uriel’s dark eyebrows narrowed and still Remiel did not yield.

“Did you find anything?” The question was sharp and seemed to echo in the vast space around them. All eyes in the room turned to face them - rows upon rows upon rows of angels, each seated at identical desks with images of their own to observe, giving her their undivided attention. For once, Remiel did not demand that they go back to work. She wanted them to see this. 

“Oh, I found a lot.” Remiel reached down to pick up her notebook, holding it out to Uriel to take. The other Archangel’s hand reached out, tensing as Remiel let go and the full weight of the pages in her hand almost caused her to tip over. An amused smile appeared on Remiel’s face. The book was much heavier than it looked.

“Anything about the postman who was there?” Uriel asked, her face just as stone cold as it always was. Remiel watched with satisfaction as the other Archangel placed the notebook back on her desk, hands trying to hide their tremble.

“Sure,” Remiel responded, leaning back in her chair, her brown eyes never leaving Uriel’s face. She took her time to run a hand through her shoulder length black hair. Fingers passed through it like she imagined a gentle waterfall might feel. Cool and smooth to the touch. “I know practically everything about him, at this point.”

She plunged on, not waiting for Uriel’s permission to speak. “His name is Leslie Winters. He lives in Richmond, just outside of London. He’s married to his high school sweetheart, Maud. They don’t have any children, but they have two lovely cats - brother and sister named Mouse and Piper who love to chase each other around the house at two in the morning. He’s been working for the International Express office for the past fifteen years and before that he was a clerk at the London post office and before that he delivered papers in the morning before class at London Metropolitan University. And before  _ that - “ _

The Archangel could have kept going for hours. She’d watched the man’s life enough times to recite more of it than he probably could. Remiel had planned to keep talking as long as Uriel would let her, just because it was fun, but the other Archangel was in no mood. She raised her hand and Remiel stopped talking, offering her a sweet smile she knew did not reach her eyes.

“We just need an address, Remiel.”

Remiel blinked. “Well then, you should have _ just _ asked for it.”

Uriel glared at her and Remiel had to stop herself from laughing out loud. Without looking away, she reached for the globe, turning the controls until an image of Leslie’s house appeared in front of both of them.

“There you go.”

Uriel left without another word, wings billowing out behind her as she flew across the room toward the door. “Happy to help!” Remiel called to her retreating back, smiling to herself when the other Archangel did nothing to acknowledge her. Only once Uriel had disappeared out the door did she turn back to the image on her desk. Following her movement, the other angels in the room returned to work.

So...the postman. Out of all the humans she had watched, he had been the least interesting. But, she supposed it made sense that he would be the one who knew the sword’s location. He had been the one to deliver it to start Armageddon. It only made sense that he would also be the one to retrieve it once everything was all over. 

Of course, Remiel knew that Leslie didn’t have the sword anymore. He’d dropped it off at the museum first thing on Sunday morning after the Great Plan had been thwarted. There was a good chance that  _ this _ was the information Gabriel, Michael, and Uriel were looking for. Not the address of the postman, but the location of the actual sword. Too bad they hadn’t asked her for that instead.

She shrugged her shoulders and moved her hand back to the globe, changing the settings to zoom in on the moment when the delivery man had picked up the object. In her opinion, it didn’t look all that intimidating a weapon. Even when she reversed the image, following the angel to whom the sword truly belonged, to the moment it had caught fire - even then, it just looked like any old sword. Just...a bit hotter.

_ You’re telling me that this can make an angel mortal?  _ It seemed so ridiculous a notion, Remiel could barely believe it to be possible. And the fact that the other Archangels wanted to use it on Aziraphale, of all beings? How did that make any sense?

Remiel did not know much about the Principality. He reported directly to Gabriel and as a field agent on Earth, was not even remotely connected to her department. To be honest, she didn’t really even know what exactly he had done leading up to the end of the world that had gotten Gabriel’s knickers in a twist. The Archangel seemed to believe everything was Aziraphale’s fault, but from what she had seen, Adam Young had been the one to set everything right. The Principality had barely been guilty of doing anything at all, except perhaps being a complete and incompetent buffoon. That hardly required punishment this severe, did it?

The device on her desk was built to observe human lives. Remiel could not use it to track Aziraphale, but she could use it to follow every human that had ever interacted with him. While the Principality may be incompetant at doing his job to jumpstart the end of the world, he was not a terrible angel. Aziraphale used many of his miracles to aid the humans around him. After a short while of searching, they became easy enough to spot.

At this point in time, Remiel assumed her task had been complete. If Uriel had come here asking for information about the postman, it meant they were that much closer to finding the sword. It wouldn’t take the Archangels long to make their way to the museum, which meant Remiel had some time, but not much, to poke around before Gabriel called another meeting. 

It didn’t take long for the Archangel to find what she was looking for. Sylvia Gray - a middle aged woman who owned a cafe just across the street from Aziraphale’s antique bookshop. From there, Remiel watched the days go by after the world didn’t end. Most days, Aziraphale stayed in his shop, only leaving to occasionally go to lunch or dinner. Sometimes, he walked. Most times, he was picked up in an old, fancy black car. 

Sometimes, he returned to the bookshop alone. Sometimes, he was followed by a red-haired man clad in dark jeans, a black jacket, and sunglasses, no matter the time of day. It seemed strange to her that the angel would choose to befriend a human in what seemed such an intimate way. They were obviously very close friends. She wondered if Aziraphale would mourn for him when the human eventually died.

Figuring that the best way to see into Aziraphale’s post-Apocalyptic life would be through the eyes of this man, Remiel reached out to touch the figure clad in black, waiting for the image to shift in front of her and show her the world through his eyes.

Nothing happened.

Remiel touched the man again. Still nothing. She reached forward to brush her fingers against Aziraphale. Nothing. Next, she touched a random human passing by on the sidewalk. Immediately, the view of the bookshop was gone and she was looking down the street, facing the direction the human had been going.

Interesting.

She hopped back to Sylvia’s perspective. This red-haired human wasn’t a human after all. Something buzzed in the back of her mind. Something about an exchange between Heaven and Hell. Holy Water for Hellfire.

Ah. So this must be the demon Crowley.

She’d never met him before. Remiel was sure of it. Still, there was something familiar about him. Something in the way he smiled when he looked at the Principality and thought no one was looking. Something in the way he held himself. In the way that he walked. A ghost of a memory drifted between her ears. If she concentrated hard enough, she could almost reach out and grab it before it drifted away once more.

Perhaps she was reading too much into it. There was every chance that the Archangel had known the demon at some point, a lifetime ago before demons had existed in the world. She supposed it didn’t much matter anymore. What’s done is done, and all that jazz. Remiel turned back to her original task, focusing her attentions back on the Principality, rather than his slithering companion.

All in all, Aziraphale lead a particularly boring life, other than his obvious friendship with a demon. In her opinion, that hardly counted as something worth being concerned over. From what she had been told, Crowley was an ex-demon anyway, in the same way that Aziraphale was an ex-angel. Why in all of Heaven would Gabriel want to punish Aziraphale for reading books and talking to a demon? Was it simply because he’d had a small part in stopping Armageddon? She was looking forward to The War as much as the next angel, but there was no reason it had to happen now. Let the Principality live his boring life in peace. As far as she was concerned, Armageddon - Part 2 would make itself known eventually. There was no need to rush things. 

Remiel was about to shut her station down and hand it back to the angel she’d borrowed it from when something caught her eye. She paused the image, zooming in on the bookshop door. It was evening, and based on the current time on Earth, only about a week or so old. Aziraphale was exiting his bookshop, dressed in his usual tan coat and tartan scarf. Nothing new there. In all actuality, nothing about the angel had given her any pause. It was the human he was greeting that had caught her attention.

This human was most certainly a different entity than Crowley. No more dark clothes. No shoulder length red hair. No sunglasses or sly smile or relaxed walk. This human was polite, proper, had his hair combed perfectly to one side, clothes comfortable, yet situated in such a way that made him look quite dashing. Remiel could tell by the expression on Aziraphale’s face that he was besotted with this newcomer.

It really shouldn’t have interested her. What happened between this human and the Principality wasn’t really under her jurisdiction. If she was really that curious, Remiel could simply wait fifty or sixty years and ask the human about it herself, if he made it up here to Heaven at all. Not really that long to wait, in the grand scheme of things.

Although, if she hadn’t been called into a meeting at this point, there was no harm in getting answers now rather than later. She had nothing better to do.

Remiel moved her hand back to the globe and turned the controls to focus on the new human. What was so special about him that would capture the Principalities attention so thoroughly? And in such a short amount of time. The Archangel was sure she hadn’t seen this human stop by the bookshop before except maybe once. She paused, hand hovering over the globe’s surface.

Come to think of it, she  _ had  _ seen him before. He’d shown up and talked to the angel for a bit previously. Quickly, Remiel rewound the image. Sylvia had been speaking to a customer at the moment, so the Archangel only got flashes of the new human from the barista’s peripherals, but she’d seen enough to know this was the same man. Touching the image of a man seated in the cafe, the image projected before her shifted to look at the world through his eyes. Remiel frowned. Still not close enough.

Several leaps later and Remiel was looking through the eyes of a young girl - Madison Benner - who was walking hand in hand with her mother past the bookshop. The young child had looked up just in time to catch the side of the human’s face, bright smile lighting up his blue-grey eyes as he spoke with the Principality.

Curiosity getting the better of her, Remiel found herself reaching out to brush a finger against the man. If he had returned to the bookshop to retrieve the angel, there was a chance they had interacted on more than one other occasion. The more that she could learn about Aziraphale, the better.

Not that she had any real reason to learn about him, other than pure curiosity. 

Remiel’s fingers brushed up against the man with the blue sweater. Nothing happened. She pushed a little harder. Still nothing.

The Archangel’s heart, that she most definitely did not have, froze.

In an instant, Remiel was resetting the image in front of her, searching for the evening this human had arrived to the bookshop doors. She watched from inside the cafe as he knocked politely on the door. She watched with wide eyes as Aziraphale opened it, beaming once he caught sight of the man’s face. 

Remiel watched without taking a single breath as the man-who-was-not-a-man turned around. She paused the image, zoomed in, and sat staring for an unknown amount of time at the face she knew she had never seen before and the pair of grey eyes she found absolutely impossible to forget. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And the plot thickens...
> 
> We'll be jumping back to Aziraphale next, so hopefully some questions will start to get answered. The next few chapters are on the longer side, so I may not get them out every single day, but I'll do my best :)
> 
> Let me know what you guys think so far! I'd love to hear from you <3


	16. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley comes by the bookshop to apologize to Aziraphale.

Aziraphale was losing his mind. He was absolutely sure of that fact. How else was he supposed to explain this gnawing pain in his chest? This  _ fraying  _ of his heart and mind and soul as he sat alone in his bookshop - too afraid to go outside. Too afraid to open the door. Too afraid to pick up the  _ blasted _ phone each and every time it rang.

He was falling to pieces and there was nothing the angel could do to stop it. No amount of dusting or reorganizing or reading through Shakespeare or Wilde or Austen or Dickens could soothe Aziraphale’s mind and stop the tears from flowing everytime he paused to take a breath. 

When had everything gone wrong? Why was he so  _ miserable  _ all the time? Why did Aziraphale feel like he was coming apart at the seams? Nothing seemed to make sense anymore. He hadn’t fought like this with Crowley since halfway through the nineteenth century. The eighty years that had followed had been the longest and most miserable of his existence. Aziraphale swore to himself that once he regained Crowley’s friendship, he would never lose it again, and here he was, sitting alone in his bookshop, crying over the demon. Too afraid to just pick up the phone and call him.

The angel  _ missed _ Crowley. He missed the demon with all of his heart, and that was the problem. Not only did Aziraphale miss Crowley in a way that made his heart ache inside his chest, but he also missed Thomas, in a way that felt exactly the same. Crowley may be right in calling him stupid, but the demon was also right in his claim that Aziraphale was clever. The angel knew something was wrong with him. Something had been wrong with him for weeks now. He just didn’t know what he could do to fix it. 

Who could he talk to? Who could sit there and listen and make sense of everything going on in his head when he couldn’t even understand it himself? How could any human possibly understand whatever it was that was happening to him? No angel would listen to him. And the only demon that had ever cared for him was obviously part of the problem. Aziraphale had to figure this out on his own. If he didn’t, he would only end up hurting Crowley more than he already had. 

_ Don’t be an idiot, Aziraphale. _

Echos from their last conversation played over and over in Aziraphale’s mind. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to block them out.

_ Aziraphale, angel, I tried to go about this the right way. _

_ I need to make sure that you’re safe. Nothing else matters. _

_ Anathema couldn’t do anything to help. I was running out of options. _

Wait a minute. The angel opened his eyes. Anathema. She could help! She was a human - a witch, rather - that knew all about angels and demons. Well, she knew something about them, which was better than most. He should call Anathema. Right now. Before something else happened that caused him to get distracted and forget.

Aziraphale stood up from his armchair and swiftly made his way over to the phone. His heart hammered away in his chest as the angel picked up the receiver, hand already reaching for the nearby phonebook.

A knock sounded at the door. Aziraphale stopped, blue eyes drifting upward to see a shadow of a man through the curtains. He was tall, thin framed, with shoulder length hair and from this angle, the angel could see a pair of familiar sunglasses perched on his nose.

Relief flooded Aziraphale and he slammed the phone book closed in a hurry, tripping over stacks of books on his way to the door. The angel was pretty sure he had forgotten to put the receiver back in its proper place, but he realized he didn’t much care at the moment. Seeing Crowley was the only thing in this world that mattered. Throwing the door open, the angel practically launched himself into his friend’s arms, pulling the demon inside faster than Crowley could open his mouth to say anything.

“Aziraphale!” Crowley’s startled gasp filled the room. The angel buried his head in Crowley’s neck, trying to stop the tears as they threatened to overflow from his eyes once again. “What in Heaven’s name happened? Are you alright?”

Leaning back, Aziraphale fixed Crowley with a watery smile. “Absolutely Tickety-Boo, my dear boy.” He laughed, relishing the feeling of the demon’s body so close to his. Wishing he could stay here in his arms forever.

In his arms.

Suddenly realizing what he’d done, Aziraphale leapt back, dropping his arms quickly to his side, immediately averting his gaze. “Sorry, dear boy,” the angel mumbled, mostly to himself, although he knew Crowley could hear. “I got a bit carried away there for a moment. I’ve missed you tremendously.”

Crowley snorted, but it was soft. Taking a deep breath, Aziraphale chanced a glance up. The demon was staring down at him with shining amber eyes and a soft smile, already folding his sunglasses up and tucking them deep into his jacket pocket. He was worried, Aziraphale could tell, but mostly relieved that the angel hadn’t sent him away again.

“You have a funny way of showing it, angel,” Crowley pointed out, shoving his hands into his pockets. “I’ve called you every day for two weeks. Is your phone broken?”

Aziraphale shook his head, suddenly feeling very embarrassed over the way he had been acting for the past few weeks. At the time, everything has just felt so overwhelming. He should have known that allowing Crowley back into his life would make things so much better. How could he ever hope to feel alright without his love here by his side?

“Did you forget to plug it back in after the rainstorm we had last week?” Crowley’s question was teasing, and Aziraphale tried to flash him a smile over the guilt rising up inside of him. Why had he shut his friend out for so long? Without so much as a word of explanation? Why had he thrown Crowley from the bookstore? Just because he’d suggested Thomas was a demon. For all Aziraphale knew he could be. Crowley was just trying to keep the angel safe and he had pushed the demon away. 

He was such a horrible friend. It was a wonder Crowley even wanted to still hang around him after the way he’d been acting.

“Hey,” the demon said softly, offering up a hesitant smile. “Don’t worry about it, ok? I - “ he paused, suddenly focusing his gaze anywhere else but on Aziraphale’s face. “I actually came here to apologize to you. For the way I acted the other night. It was wrong of me and I’m sorry and I want to make things right between us.”

_ Things are right.  _ The words rested on the tip of his tongue, a breath away from leaping out into the air around them.  _ They are, now that you are here, my dearest.  _

Instead, Aziraphale found himself saying, “I forgive you.”

Not exactly what he’d wanted to say, but the angel supposed it could have gone much worse. Why was it so difficult for him to talk to Crowley freely? Why, after all this time of being on their own side could he still not express the way that he felt. What was he so afraid of?

_ Him, _ Aziraphale’s mind answered.  _ I’m afraid of losing him. _

Without Crowley, Aziraphale was nothing. He was an angel without Heaven. An eternal being living among mortals. Crowley was his only constant, his very best friend. Aziraphale couldn’t imagine life without him. 

Crowley took a step forward, reaching out to take Aziraphale’s hand in his. The angel felt tears welling in his eyes again at the gentle touch. His heart soared in his chest. Oh, how he’d  _ missed  _ this. 

“Allow me to make it up to you, angel,” the demon was saying, his amber gaze fixed on Aziraphale’s face. Was he imagining it, or could the angel really see affection swimming in those gorgeous eyes? Did he dare to hope that all of this mess between them was because Crowley was jealous? That Crowley wanted Aziraphale all to himself? That the demon wanted to  _ be  _ with him, in a way that was so much  _ more _ than anything they had been before.

“What did you have in mind?” Aziraphale’s blue eyes were wide, fixed on his best friend’s face, heart filled with relief and love and contentment and all the other things he hadn’t been able to feel in  _ weeks _ . For the first time since Crowley had walked out that door, Aziraphale felt like he was finally whole. He’d never let the demon out of his sights again if it meant feeling this way for the rest of eternity.

“Anathema and Newton invited us over for dinner tonight,” the demon began, his hand still holding onto Aziraphale’s gently. The angel watched as Crowley licked his lips and for a moment, thought about leaning into kiss them. Blinking, Aziraphale banished the thought. What the Hell was wrong with him? Not ten minutes ago he’d been crying in despair over the demon and now he was ready to jump the poor creature. Crowley may be here again, but there was something definitely still wrong with Aziraphale. What had he been trying to do before the demon showed up? He’d had an idea of something that might be able to improve his situation. What had it been?

“I was wondering if you wanted to come along. It would be nice to spend some time together. And you haven’t seen either one of them in ages.”

_ Anathema.  _ His plan had something to do with Anathema. Oh, what was it? Why couldn’t Aziraphale remember? 

“You could invite Thomas too,” Crowley offered, ripping Aziraphale away from his thoughts. The angel looked up to see those amber eyes shining with some sort of unspoken emotion. “If you wanted. Whatever makes you happy, angel.”

_ You _ . The words were once again on the tip of his tongue, fighting to make their way out into the open.  _ You make me happy, my dearest. _

“No, my dear boy, I don’t think that will be nec - “

Another knock sounded at the door. Both Aziraphale and Crowley froze. Panic seized at the angel once more as he thought of the blue-grey eyes and wide smile that surely awaited him on the other side of that door. Who else would be knocking when the sign was so obviously turned to ‘closed’? Crowley was already inside, which left only one other option.

“Do you want me to get it?” the demon’s voice was soft, barely making its way through the space between them.

Aziraphale shook his head. He was being ridiculous. What kind of angel was he if he couldn’t even handle one measly human? And, if Thomas wasn’t actually human, like Crowley had previously claimed, well then, he had a demon of his own by his side. Surely Thomas was no match for the pair of them. They had taken on the entirety of Heaven and Hell and come out the other side. What could one potential demon do to them now?

“No,” Aziraphale breathed, straightening himself as he made for the door. “That’s quite alright. I believe I can take care of this myself.” 

_ Good afternoon, Thomas,  _ the angel rehearsed in his head as he placed one foot surely in front of the other.  _ It’s lovely to see you again, but I’m afraid I can’t stick around long. Anthony and I are headed out of town for dinner tonight. Maybe some other time. _

With a shaking hand, the angel yanked the door open, pulling forth memories of flaming swords and shaking earth and standing tall against the end of the world with his best friend by his side. Nothing could stop him. He was Aziraphale, Principality, Guardian of the Eastern gate. He would not be bamboozled by some human or demon or anything else that knocked on his door.

“Good afternoon, Thomas,” the angel began, fully intending to go through with the rest of the statement. He looked up to see the young man standing there before him, dressed in khakis and a comfortable looking green sweater, a hesitant smile upon his face. 

And then blue eyes met grey and the words died in Aziraphale’s mouth. He felt his heart soar in the exact way it had moments ago when Crowley had touched his hand. In the way only Crowley had the right to stir within him. Aziraphale found himself smiling, all his worries flying away like a flock of birds in the setting sunlight. The angel had thought he’d felt relief before. It paled in comparison to how he felt now, gazing into this man’s eyes.

“Did I catch you at a bad time?” Thomas asked, glancing over Aziraphale’s shoulder. The angel turned to see Crowley still standing in the middle of the bookshop, an unreadable expression on his face. He wasn’t angry to see the man here, but he also wasn’t thrilled. Try as he might, the angel could not come up with an accurate description for what his friend was feeling. The fact that Crowley had replaced his glasses the moment Aziraphale moved to open the door hadn’t helped.

“No, my dear,” the angel smiled, turning back to the man standing before him. Without meaning to, he leaned in to give Thomas a chaste peck on the cheek. “I’m sorry I’ve been hard to get a hold of recently. Time just slipped away from me, I suppose.”

Not exactly the truth, but not a lie either. Aziraphale wasn’t about to admit to Thomas or Crowley he’d spent the entirety of the past two weeks shut away in his back room crying like a baby. What had he even been upset over? Try as he might, the angel couldn’t remember.

“Do you want to come inside?” The words tumbled from Aziraphale’s lips before he could stop them. “We were just making plans for dinner at a friend’s house. I’d love for you to join us, if you have the time.”

Hope flickered in Thomas’ eyes. At the same time, he held up a polite hand. “That’s alright, Ezra. I wouldn’t want to impose.”

“Nonsense,” Crowley’s voice drifted over Aziraphale’s head, causing the angel to turn and look at him. Did the demon want Thomas to come with them? The last time they’d talked, he’d been convinced the man was a threat to Aziraphale’s safety. What had changed?

“You’d be more than welcome. I’m sure of it.”

Thomas smiled and followed Aziraphale inside. The angel half expected something terrible to happen as the man took his first steps across the threshold into the bookshop. Crowley had been so adamant the last time Aziraphale had seen him. Going on and on about demons and keeping Aziraphale safe and trying to hang up that stupid horseshoe above the doorway, even to his own detriment. Part of him had been anxiously awaiting some sort of sign that his friend may have been right - as ridiculous as the whole story had sounded.

But of course, everything was fine. Of course nothing bad happened. Nothing exploded in smoke and fire. The ground didn’t shake beneath their feet. The bookstore remained as intact as it always had. And why wouldn’t it?

Thomas was only human. Why should either of them expect anything extraordinary from him? Whatever reservations Crowley may have experienced were gone now. He regarded Thomas with a polite nod of his head, not bothering to offer up any further words of greeting. Aziraphale supposed that was better than nothing. He knew his demon wasn’t the most hospitable of creatures. There was no reason to fear Crowley would be anything less than polite tonight, especially if they were going to visit Newt and Anathema. He had said he wanted Aziraphale to be happy, after all, hadn’t he? What better way to spend an evening than with the two people that meant the most to him in the entire world?

“So,” Thomas asked after a moment of silence, slipping his hand gently into Aziraphale’s. The angel turned toward him, beaming. He was delighted to find a smile given to him in return. “Where are we going?”

Crowley cleared his throat, taking a moment to remove his hand from his pocket and run it through his shoulder length hair. “It’s a little town called Tadfield. Rather quaint. Quite forgettable, actually, when you think about it.” An actual smile appeared on his face, and Azirapahle could practically see the glint of amusement hidden behind his glasses. “I have a feeling you’re going to like it.”

Aziraphale looked back over as Thomas squeezed his hand. A blush rose to the angel’s cheeks as he squeezed back, completely giddy with what was to come. Oh, how he couldn’t wait to see Newton and Anathema again! They had so much to catch up on. It really had been too long since they’d seen each other last.

_ Anathema.  _ The name rang through Aziraphale’s mind like a warning bell. For a brief moment, he felt his stomach drop, like he imagined someone might feel when they suddenly realized they’d left the stove on at home.

“Shall we get going? Wouldn’t want to keep your friends waiting.”

With one more smile from Thomas, the feeling was gone, as if it had never even existed in the first place. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two chapters in one day??? You better bet I'm feeling 100 times better than yesterday, haha :) We're getting to some of the scenes I've been super excited to write for a while now, so I'm typing as fast as I possibly can to get them all out to you guys!
> 
> Thank you to everyone who has provided feedback so far. I love seeing everyone's thoughts about what might happen and their theories involving how the characters might be interacting with each other. I can't wait for you all to get some answers soon.
> 
> See you all again soon!


	17. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dinner at Anathema's house reveals some very unpleasant information.

This evening was going to be the death of him. Crowley wasn’t just talking about discorporation this time. He was literally, physically, metaphorically, however anyone wanted to put it - he was going to cease to exist after tonight. There was just no way around it.

How was he supposed to take this? How was he supposed to act calm and polite and fucking happy when a literal demon was sitting in the same room as him, with an arm draped oh so casually around his angel’s shoulders? And Aziraphale! Just sitting there, all cosied up to the creature with that  _ look  _ in his eyes. A look that Crowley could only dream would ever be directed toward him. 

Anathema and Newton had been the perfect hosts. They had welcomed the trio with warm smiles and open arms, not a horseshoe in sight.  _ Pity _ , Crowley thought as he sat in the armchair watching Aziraphale trace light circles on Thomas’ knee. He would have suffered through a thousand demonic wards if it meant Aziraphale would be safe from this fiend once and for all.

Their plan had been simple. Step one: lure Thomas and Aziraphale to Anathema. That part had turned out to be much easier than Crowley had anticipated. He’d half expected the demon to come up with some excuse why he couldn’t come tonight, but he had been surprisingly agreeable. In fact, nothing the demon had done so far came even close to an act that would hurt Aziraphale.

Was it possible he’d been telling Crowley the truth? That he really meant the angel no harm?  _ Impossible _ . Even if the demon was here to try an torture him, surely he would know that anything he did to try and tear Aziraphale away from him would inevitably hurt the angel too. They’d been through all of human history together. Hell - they’d been through the end of the world and back. He and Aziraphale were a part of each other now, and they always would be. Even if their relationship was not exactly as Crowley would prefer it, he knew Aziraphale cared about him. Anything that hurt Crowley would, by extension, hurt Aziraphale just by his caring nature. Meaning, this demon, whoever he was, definitely had ‘hurting Aziraphale’ on his agenda.

He had to go.

Step two was also fairly straightforward. Get said demon to stay in Anathema’s house long enough for her to get a reading on him. Crowled had absolutely no idea what sort of thing she was looking for or how long it might take. So, for the foreseeable future, he was stuck here in this nightmare scenario, making small talk with the creature he probably hated most in all of existence. At least, for the present moment.

“So, you’re a painter?” Anathema had appointed Newton as the head conversationalist while she bustled around the kitchen preparing dinner. It was going just about as well as Crowley would have expected. “With...paints and brushes and stuff? Or, do you use your hands, or sponges…?”

Crowley had to bite back a smart remark on that one. Oh, this was going to blow up disastrously in his face. He could just feel it. This demon was going to realize what a ridiculous, unnatural situation this was and he was going to make a run for it and likely drag the smitten angel with him. They were all doomed.

Thomas’ attention actually perked up at that question. Crowley watched in stunned silence as the demon shifted in his seat, leaning forward so that his arm was no longer wrapped around Aziraphale’s shoulder, hands clasping together over his knees instead. “Yeah. Painting is a side hobby of mine. I picked it up not too long ago, actually. I was walking by a shop on my first day in London and saw this beautiful rendition of a sunset. It looked like the whole sky was on fire. I’d never seen anything like it before and decided then and there I wanted to learn how to make art like that.”

He should ask about that. Crowley should ask about where the creature had been before London.  _ He _ knew that any answer other than Hell would be a lie. Would Aziraphale be able to sense it? Would he be able to tell his new ‘friend’ was lying? Or was he too...messed up in the head to notice anything the demon did wrong?

Except, Thomas would realize what he was trying to do with a question so obvious. The last thing Crowley wanted to accomplish with this dinner was pissing the other demon off. They had a plan. He should stick to it. Let Newton lead the conversation. Interject smart remarks when he could. Keep Thomas busy so Anathema could do her thing. 

From his vantage point in the armchair, Crowley couldn’t see anything of what the witch was doing. His back was entirely to her, causing him to rely solely on hearing to tell even something as simple as where she was.

“You learned how to paint all those beautiful images in a month?” the demon heard Aziraphale ask. Crowley’s stomach roiled with agitation at the obvious fondness in his angel’s voice. Aziraphale was genuinely impressed with Thomas’ talent. Could he say the same thing about himself? Were there any gifts that Crowley possessed that would make his angel speak that way about him? He couldn’t think of one.

Thomas chuckled, leaning in to press a kiss to Aziraphale’s temple. Crowley wished he had something small in his hand, like a pencil or a toothpick, just so he could feel the satisfaction of snapping it in half. “I’ve been in London more than just a month, love. I had to practice my craft for several months before I had the courage to try and sell it to other people.”

_ Love.  _ The word stabbed at Crowley’s heart. He turned to look back at Anathema who was currently bustling around the table, putting all the silverware in its proper place. She must have sensed something from him, because the next second, the woman looked up and met his gaze. Crowley had no idea what he looked like in that moment, but based on her grimace, it couldn’t have been good.

“Could one of you come help finish setting the table?” she called over, brown eyes drifting to where Aziraphale and Thomas were seated on the couch. In an instant, the angel was on his feet, hurrying over to lend a helping hand. Crowley couldn’t hold back his fond smile. Even when he had all of this craziness going on, his angel was still kind down to his core.

Oh, how Crowley loved him.

“Anthony,” Anathema spoke again, inclining her head toward the kitchen. “I need an extra hand in the kitchen. It’s time to get the vegetables prepped for the stir fry.”

The demon grinned. “And you chose me to handle the knives. Excellent choice.”

She actually laughed at that and it sounded genuine. “In your dreams. I need your long arms for stirring.”

They had to be careful. At this point, if Anathema was pulling him off to the side, it meant that she had found something. Based on the expression on her face, the information she had acquired fell somewhere between mildly interesting and the ‘second coming of the end of the world’.

Crowley tried to gain some semblance of control over his traitorous stomach. At this point, Thomas had no reason to suspect anything was up, except for the fact that he knew that Crowley knew he was a demon. He didn’t know anything about Anathema or Newton or their involvement in stopping Armageddon or what the witch could do. Still, if Crowley was alone with her too long, he might suspect something was up.

They had to be careful, and they had to be quiet. If Thomas overheard anything suspicious, they could all be in danger. After interacting with him all afternoon, Crowley still didn’t know who they were dealing with. If it was some lesser demon that had popped up here for some fun, they were probably fine. If Thomas was one of the Dukes, they could be in a lot of trouble if he decided the game was over. 

The door swung inward behind them as Crowley crossed over the threshold from the dining area into the kitchen. He turned around, watching the wood swing back and forth. Back and forth. Until it finally settled back into the frame. Anathema had already positioned herself at the counter, knife in hand, silently chopping away at a particularly large carrot.

“So,” Crowley began, sauntering over to Anathema’s side. How was he supposed to go about doing this? How was he supposed to talk to her without Thomas overhearing. Even tucked away in the kitchen, the demon could still hear Newton picking up the conversation about painting. If he could hear them, there was no way Thomas wouldn’t be listening to him. “I’m supposed to help with the stirring?”

“You can speak openly, Crowley,” Anathema began, shoveling a handful of the orange vegetables into the pan. She reached into a wooden container and pulled out a spoon, thrusting it over in his direction. The demon barely had a grip on it before she was speaking again. “I’ve soundproofed the door.”

He watched as her eyes drifted upward to the door frame. Tacked to the four corners were a bundle of herbs that Crowley assumed was some sort of witchy spell that prevented sound from flowing outward across the barrier. He eyed the plants warily, silently demanding that they do their job properly. Aziraphale’s safety depended on it. 

“Do you need me to prove it to you?”

The demon turned back. How was she going to do that? He was in here, not out there. How could he possibly tell that whatever they said couldn’t be heard out there unless he was in both places at once - to hear and not hear the sound at the same time.

A sly smile appeared on the woman’s face. “You might want to cover your ears.”

Before he had a second to react, she was screaming. “Newton! Get in here! There’s a giant spider on the wall and I need your help!!”

Silence fell around them. Crowley slowly lowered his hands, eyes darting over to the doorway, ears listening for any sound someone had heard Anathema’s cry for help.

“What?” the demon taunted after a moment longer. “Do you expect him to come running in here to save you?”

Another smile made its way onto the woman’s face. “Of course not. I expect nothing to happen, because none of them can hear me. But if they could, he’d come running in here to hand me the fly swatter hanging up on the other side of that door so I could kill it for him.”

Crowley rolled his eyes. This woman was ridiculous. But she also knew her stuff. She was probably the only person on the entire planet that could help him right now. He should probably thank her, at some point, for sticking her neck out for him like this. Anathema barely knew him, and yet she had opened her home to an unknown demonic threat to help him. Did that mean they were friends? Crowley was no expert, but it seemed like the sort of thing friends would do for one another. 

“So?” he asked after a sufficient amount of time. “What did you see?”

Anathema had moved onto the peas and was currently prying open pod after pod and sliding the contents into the pan alongside the carrots. Without missing a beat, the woman reached down and forcibly directed the spoon, and by association his hand, closer to the stove. He immediately started stirring, glancing down at her from behind his dark shades.

“I can tell you this much,” she began. “Whatever’s going on has the pair of you all...twisted up. That’s honestly the best way I can describe it. I didn’t notice when it was just you, but now that I see you and Aziraphale together, your auras are connected. Melded together, almost.”

Crowley paused. Whatever he had been expecting, that hadn’t been it. He’d hoped the witch would have simply said ‘Yup. that’s a demon aura’ and they would have been done with it. Here she was noticing things completely separate from Thomas - about him and Aziraphale. The concept made his stomach flutter, not all that unpleasantly. 

“Was that different from before?”

“Yes,” she responded, almost immediately. “When I first met you two, after you hit me with your car -”

“You hit  _ me _ with your bike,” Crowley interrupted. She pressed on without seeming to notice.

“- your auras were very distinct. I don’t know if at the time I could have told you that they were demonic or angelic in nature. I’d never come across such a thing before, so there was really no way to know. But now?” She paused, wiping her brown on the sleeve of her lilac blouse. “Your auras are practically intertwined. Like they’ve been meshed together, or something.”

Crowley nodded. That made sense, in a way. His connection with Aziraphale had felt much stronger since they’d gone through with the body swap. It only made sense that some of his essence had remained with the angel and vice versa. That must be what Anathema was seeing.

But what did any of this have to do with the demon sitting in the other room?

After a moment, he realized Anathema was waiting for him to explain. “Right,” he started, clearing his throat. “You see, after we saved the world and whatnot, Heaven and Hell tried to kill us. So we sort of switched places. Aziraphale went to hell for me and took a bath in Holy Water. And I went up to Heaven for him and stepped into some Hellfire.” The demon paused, impressed that her eyes hadn’t bugged out of their sockets yet, although he would never admit it.

“We had to sort of mix up our essences. To switch bodies, or whatever. I don’t really get it, to be honest with you, but Agnes told us to. So we did. And we’re only alive today because of it.”

Anathema frowned. “Well, that explains part of it.”

Crowley waited for her to continue. She was obviously thinking through something very complicated, and in a gesture of good will, he didn’t push her, choosing to focus his attention on the task at hand. It wouldn’t do to let their dinner burn now, although a simple miracle would certainly fix the problem.

He looked up again suddenly when Anathema leaned in close, studying a particular point on his shoulder rather intently. When she didn’t immediately explain herself, Crowley looked down into her eyes and cocked his eyebrow, waiting.

“You are absolutely sure that Aziraphale only started acting weird recently?” she asked quietly, still looking him over like there was some hidden secret attached to his form somehow. “It didn’t start happening right after you saved the world and you just didn’t notice until now.”

The demon shook his head. Impossible. He may be willing to look past a lot of things, but his relationship with Aziraphale was not one of them. “I’m sure.”

She sighed, suddenly looking much more somber. “Aziraphale’s aura is frayed. At least, that is the best way I know how to describe it.”

“Frayed?” What did that even mean? Was that a bad thing? It sounded bad, based on her sudden seriousness.

“Like when a rope is pulled taut and starts breaking,” she explained softly, brown eyes shimmering under the yellow kitchen light. “His aura looks like it’s been broken at the edges. Pulled apart by something and then parts of it has been fused back together.”

“Fused together with what?” Crowley was afraid to hear her say it. He knew what Anathema was going to say before the words left her mouth. Knowing didn’t make the panic any less real.

“Thomas’ aura. His is mixed into Aziraphale’s in the  _ exact _ same way yours is.” She stopped and took a deep, shaky breath. “But it’s not exactly seamless. I don’t really know how to explain what it looks like to someone who can’t see. You know how scar tissue looks different than normal skin?”

Crowley nodded his head, his mouth suddenly feeling very dry. The demon was aware that he was beginning to panic. No other term could explain the rapid beating of his heart or the way his palms were starting to sweat or how he was sure he was about to throw up.

Anathema fell silent, acknowledging that he didn’t need her to say anything else. Crowley was about five seconds away from passing out, but he gripped the spoon in his hand tighter and forced the next question out of his mouth and past his lips, already knowing what the witch’s answer would be.

“Is my aura frayed too?”

Slowly, Anathema nodded. “Not as much of it, but yes. It is.” She was studying him with such an intense expression, Crowley feared he’d discorporate on the spot, but something inside of him stood firm. He had to pull himself together. For Aziraphale’s sake. “It took me a while to spot it on you. With him, I can see the damage from across the room.”

Crowley dropped the spoon into the pan and took a step back, falling into the small wooden chair that had been pushed up against the wall by the window. How had he been so blind? How had he not seen what was happening to Aziraphale right in front of his blessed eyes? Crowley should have done something about this weeks ago. He should have known that Aziraphale wouldn’t have abandoned him so easily. He should have gathered his courage and  _ talked _ to the angel instead of acting like a jealous prick.

“What can I do?” he wheezed, burying his face in his hands. “Please tell me it’s not too late.”

Instead of reassuring him, Anathema reached out a hand and clicked off the stove. This was his signal to pull himself together before someone opened that door and Aziraphale was lost forever. Crowley took a deep breath and looked up once more, not bothering to fix his glasses, for once.

“Crowley,” the woman said, voice at a deadpan. “Do you know who is currently sitting in that room with my boyfriend?”

The demon sighed, wrangling in all the frayed edges of his feelings and stuffing them deep ina locked box within his very soul. He would deal with all of this later once he’d gotten Aziraphale away from that monster. 

“His name is Dantalion. A Duke of Hell.”

Nothing changed about her expression except a slight rise of her perfectly shaped eyebrow, demanding a more detailed explanation. As much as Crowley didn’t want to give words to it, he owed her that much after all the danger he’d unknowingly put her in by dragging her into all of this.

“He’s a demon of many faces,” Crowley explained, his voice subconsciously lowering in volume, as if doing so would prevent them from getting caught. “He oversees legions of demons in Hell whose job it is to torture the souls that pass through their gates. Dantalion is the Demon of Many Faces. He can take on the appearance of any individual. It’s how he tortures his victims.” Crowley shuddered. “I’ve never actually met the guy. Never seen his work, but I’ve heard stories. He’s one of the best. Emotional trauma is his specialty.”

“Fun,” Anathema droned. Somehow, she was still moving, as if on autopilot, finishing up the preparations for their dinner. Crowley felt his stomach clench painfully. The thought of sitting down at the table with that  _ thing _ made him want to run as far away as possible. But that would mean leaving Aziraphale behind. Something he was never willing to do. “And?” 

She knew there was something he wasn’t telling her. A blind man would be able to see as much. “He can manipulate love,” the demon breathed, feeling tears prick at his eyes. His heart ached as he realized that his darkest fears were coming true. He was losing Aziraphale, and not because of anything he had done or any fault of the angel’s. His love for Aziraphale and the angel’s love for him was literally being ripped away and directed toward Dantalion.

That was why Aziraphale had been acting so strange. That was why he’d been so infatuated with the human - why he’d agreed to go on the date. Why he’d allowed himself to be kissed. Why he’d grown so angry at Crowley for suggesting anything bad about the man he knew to be Thomas. Dantalion was manipulating Aziraphale’s love - all of it - toward him. And as an angel, Aziraphale was a creature of love. He had an infinite amount to give and the Duke was taking it all for himself bit by bit. Strand by strand.

“He’s making Aziraphale fall in love with him.”

There were no words. What else could either one of them say to fix this? The only way out that Crowley could find would be to spirit the angel far away somewhere and stay with him to help pick up the broken pieces such an act would leave behind. 

Crowley would have done so in an instant if he had been able to. Even if it had caused Aziraphale immense pain in the moment because he knew the angel would be alright eventually. He would have miracled himself and Aziraphale to Antarctica or Timbuktu or Alpha Centauri if possible, but Crowley knew there was no way Dantalion would allow such a thing to happen with Aziraphale here in his sights. And if Crowley somehow managed to get Aziraphale away tonight, Newton and Anathema would be as good as dead, and he didn’t want that.

No. The best plan would be to wait until later that night. Wait until Dantalion left Aziraphale alone and then whisk the angel away. That would give Anathema enough time to put up her wards. He didn’t know how much the witch could do against a Duke of Hell, let alone several dozen legions, but that was a problem for another day. He  _ had _ to get Aziraphale as far away from this fiend as possible.

“Just how many demons does this duke control?” Anathema asked quietly, her voice never wavering. 

“Thousands. At least a hundred thousand. I don’t know. I haven’t done the math!”

He knew he was being unjustly short with her, but Crowley could only handle one thing at a time. All of his attention was focused on how he was going to get Aziraphale away from Earth without Dantalion knowing where they went. He didn’t know how strong the demon’s connection was with his angel. What if he could track Aziraphale? What if he could prevent Crowley from miracling the angel away, even if he wasn’t in the room?

The demon took a deep breath and held out his hands to take some of the plates of food from Anathema. First thing was first. He had to get through this evening without Dantalion realizing they knew who he was. If anything they did tipped him off, Aziraphale would be gone and it would be nearly impossible for Crowley to get him back.

Not that he wouldn’t go down trying.

Seeming to understand where his mind was, Anathema offered Crowley a firm smile and followed him as the demon turned around, lowered his sunglasses once more, and strode confidently through the kitchen door.

Only to run smack into Aziraphale, who was on his way in to grab some water for the table. The angel let out a startled yelp and in one fluid motion, the glasses fell from his grip and shattered against the hardwood floor.

In any other circumstance, either he or Crowley could simply miracle the damage away, but they were in the presence of a demon pretending to be a human, so the shards of glass remained untouched on the floor as angel and demon stared at each other in shock.

“Oh,” a voice said from just behind Aziraphale, “here, let me help.”

Crowley literally had to bite his tongue to keep from saying anything. Even though this evil bastard was stealing everything he loved, Crowley’s stupid instincts almost warned Dantalion against putting his hand on the glass. What kind of fucking demon was he?

The demon-turned-human let out a startled yelp as the glass sliced at his skin. Red blood pooled to the surface and Dantalion knelt frozen on the ground, staring down at his hand as the crimson liquid began streaming down his arm.

“Oh dear!” Aziraphale exclaimed, grabbing onto the strong arm as he practically pulled the Duke of Hell to his feet and walked him over to the table. Grabbing a napkin, the angel quickly wrapped it around the bleeding wound, offering Dantalion a soft smile.

“I’ll go get a broom,” Newton muttered as he danced around both Crowley and Anathema, disappearing into the kitchen. Crowley took a step forward and placed the food down on the table, keeping his eyes on Aziraphale as he murmured sweet, soothing noises, trying to comfort the being beside him.

Crowley would have been furious, except something crackled through the air, absorbing every bit of his attention. His eyes went wide and the demon was eternally grateful that his expression was partially hidden by the sunglasses on his face.

Aziraphale had just used a miracle. His angel had used a  _ fucking _ miracle on Dantalion to heal his wound. How could he be so stupid? How was he going to explain this? Why hadn’t he just let the bastard bleed? Maybe Dantalion would have done them all a favor and killed himself, but that brilliantly stupid angel just had to step in and ruin everything.

Bless his fucking too-kind heart.

“There,” Azirapale was murmuring as he pulled the napkin away to reveal a thin sliver of a cut - much shallower than it physically should have been based on all the blood that was now embedded in the previously white cloth. “I think you can probably get away with just a bandage. No need for a trip to the hospital tonight.”

Crowley watched as Aziraphale smiled up at Dantalion. He heard Anathema whisper a soft ‘oh my’ behind him, but the demon wasn’t paying attention. He couldn’t see anything except the way his angel softly held onto the injured hand, looking over at its owner with love so blatantly shining in his eyes. All Crowley saw in that moment was that _damn_ look that should have belonged only to him but that had been so cruelly taken away.

All he could see was Aziraphale's expression of pure adoration directed toward the lying, manipulative fiend standing in their midst and the eerily similar expression that was being directed back toward the angel.

_ Fuck. _

What was Crowley supposed to do now?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm very interested to hear what you guys thought of the information that was revealed in this chapter... Most of the information I am using for Dantalion's character comes from the Wikipedia page. I find him absolutely fascinating and can't wait to explore him some more as we go along!
> 
> Thanks for being patient today. I was hoping to get this update out earlier this morning, but the chapter ended up being longer than I'd expected. I hope you all enjoy it!


	18. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale and Thomas have a talk once they get back to the bookshop.

The ride back to London was made in total silence. All three of them seemed too wrapped up in their own thoughts to say much of anything as the dark English countryside passed by them in a blur. Dinner had been wonderful, apart from the broken glass and a little bit of blood, but that had easily been patched up. They’d laughed and talked together, played some simple games once the food had been cleared away, and finished up the evening with a nice bottle of Pinot Noir.

A sense of simultaneous peace and concern settled over Aziraphale as they entered the city limits. He’d had a wonderful time, but the angel was exhausted. Time to turn in for a nice cup of hot cocoa and a decent mystery novel. That was just the thing to lighten his spirits, he was sure.

They pulled up on the curb by the bookshop’s front door. For a moment the angel sat there, listening to the sounds of rustling in the back seat as Thomas slid across the immaculate leather and let himself out. Warm yellow lights spilled out of the window, beckoning him home. Slowly, the angel reached out a hand, feeling the cool metal handle on his fingertips as he shifted his weight to join the man already waiting for him outside.

“Angel.”

Crowley’s soft voice stilled Aziraphale’s hand on the car door. The angel paused, catching his reflection in the tinted glass before turning to face his best friend. Pale hands gripped the steering wheel, revealing white knuckles and a subtle trembling. Amber eyes were fixed not on Aziraphale’s face, but straight ahead, hiding behind the familiar black lenses. Even now that they were momentarily alone, the demon seemed hesitant to speak.

He was upset. Somehow, Aziraphale knew it was all his fault. 

“Are you alright, my dear?” The angel’s voice drifted quietly between them, finally drawing Crowley’s attention to him. Aziraphale offered up a soft smile, but he felt as it morphed into something sad without his permission. What was happening to them? Why did he feel so awful in this moment, gazing over at his friend? They’d had such a pleasant evening and Aziraphale had been so  _ happy _ getting to spend time with his friends, Crowley and Thomas by his side. Why did he feel like the world was ending all over again now that he was home?

“Aziraphale.” The omission of his pet name caused Aziraphale’s heart to ache in a way he hadn’t expected. Crowley called him by his real name all the time, almost as frequently as he used the term ‘angel’. Why should this time feel so different? “I need you to know that the only thing I want in this entire world is your happiness, yeah? And if -” the demon broke off suddenly, grip tightening on the steering wheel. If Aziraphale didn’t know better, he would have said the demon looked as though he were about to cry. 

To his knowledge, Crowley had only cried a handful of times in all of human history. Memories of the last time swam to the surface of Aziraphale’s mind. A dark flat filled with greenery, the quiet of night falling over the sleepy city. An angel and a demon locked in a warm embrace as they faced down the possibility of their extinction on the night in which the world didn’t end.

_ I lost you, Aziraphale. Your bookshop was on fire and you were just gone. I thought I’d never see you again. _

Pain echoed in the angel’s heart as he gazed over at the being who had, despite Aziraphale’s initial reservations, become his lifelong partner and friend. Why was Crowley hurting now? How could he fix this? 

“If  _ he _ makes you happy,” Crowley’s gaze lifted to stare at a point out the window, past Aziraphale’s shoulder where the angel knew Thomas was patiently waiting for him. The angel refrained from the sudden urge to turn around and look at his...well, whatever Thomas was to him. This was more important.  _ Crowley _ was more important. “I don’t want to be the thing that gets in the way.”

“I just - “ the demon plowed on as Aziraphale’s face softened. Biting back the words of comfort he had been about to release, the angel sat back and listened. “There’s something you need to know. Something about me I haven’t told you, and I need you to know. But now isn’t the right time.” He took a deep breath before reaching up an unsteady hand to lower the glasses from his face. Aziraphale’s breath caught in his throat as the angel gazed over at those gorgeous amber pools. They were absolutely stunning. He’d always believed that to be so, as far back as Eden.

“Do you think we could get breakfast tomorrow morning?” The request was so kind, so sincere, so desperately  _ urgent _ that Aziraphale had a hard time understanding how he could ever deny Crowley anything. “Just you and me?”

The fact that he needed to clarify the desire to be alone brought tears to Aziraphale’s eyes. When had they just spent time together - the two of them? It had been weeks. He was surprised at how much he desperately  _ missed _ it.

“Of course, my dear boy,” the angel responded, flashing his friend a wide smile. Crowley returned it with sharper edges and a brow filled with worry. For a moment, the angel thought about reaching out and taking the demon’s hand. He was instantly transported back to a neon lit street in Soho where an angel and a demon sat in the very same car, a tartan patterned thermos of Holy Water wedged between them.

He’d wanted to reach out then too. Wanted to say  _ take me home - take us home  _ when Crowley had asked, but back then, such a thing had been impossible. Now, there was nothing between them. Nothing here in this car to hold him back, or at least there shouldn’t have been. Reaching across the seat to take Crowley’s hand in his should have been as easy as breathing. He’d dreamed about it so many times. 

Instead, Aziraphale grabbed onto his own hand, folding it neatly in his lap. “Pick me up at the usual time? Say, around ten?”

The demon visibly winced. “I was actually thinking a bit earlier, if you’re up and ready to go by then. How does seven sound?”

Seven? Blue eyes widened a fraction. Was Crowley feeling alright? He never wanted to do things that early. Even if he  _ hadn’t  _ chosen to sleep the night before, which was rare these days, Crowley didn’t believe in being out and about before the sun had a proper chance to raise itself into the sky. 

Whatever he had to say must be really important.

“Do you want to come inside and talk now?” The question fell from his lips before it had fully formed itself in his mind, but unlike all the other times, this was  _ exactly _ what the angel had meant to say. He would send the whole world away in a heartbeat if it would make the demon smile again. 

Something akin to hope flickered to life in Crowley’s eyes, only to be snuffed out a second later. “Nah,” the demon responded, turning away from Aziraphale once more as he finally lowered his hands into his lap. “S’alright, angel. You deserve an evening to yourself. I’ll see you tomorrow, yeah?”

“Yes.” Aziraphale locked his gaze on Crowley’s face and leaned in to brush a hand against the demon’s. In the blink of an eye, Crowley’s fingers had found themselves interlaced with his own, squeezing onto the angel like his life depended on it. “Seven o’clock and not a moment later, my  _ dear _ .”

He gave the hand a gentle squeeze as the other one reached for the door handle beside him. Crowley’s grip tightened on his just for a moment as the demon turned to look at him once more.

“Be safe tonight, ok angel?”

The words were so soft, Aziraphale could barely hear them from a heartbeat away. Still, he smiled, returning the squeeze with equal vigor before stepping out of the car. “You too, my dear. Drive safe.”

For one final heartbeat, their eyes met through the tinted glass that now separated the pair, and then Crowley was gone, for once driving cautiously through the London streets before disappearing around the corner.

“Everything alright?” Aziraphale heard a voice ask from behind him. He turned to see Thomas a few steps away, hands resting calmly at his side, eyes looking more grey than blue under the lamplight.

“Yes,” the angel sighed, a bit more wearily than he’d intended. Aziraphale wasn’t much for sleep, but maybe he would give it another go tonight. “I think I’ve done something to upset him recently.” is eyes met Thomas’ and the pair shared a soft, knowing smile. “Anthony was just letting me know it was alright. That he just wants me to be happy.”

“That was kind of him,” Thomas remarked and Aziraphale found himself nodding, hugging himself closer as the November wind blew down the street past them.

“He can be when he tries.” Aziraphale’s eyes flickered up to the ‘closed’ sign on the bookshop door, then back to Thomas’ face. What did he do now? Had this been a date, or just time spent with friends? Did Thomas expect to be invited inside? Did Aziraphale want to invite him in? He certainly enjoyed his time spent with the man, but it was late and all the angel wanted to do right now was curl up with his book and his cocoa and not have to talk to anyone.

“Would you mind,” Thomas began after a heartbeat of silence, “if I came in to use the loo? I promise, I’ll be out of your hair after that.”

Aziraphale smiled, gesturing toward the bookshop door that was now conveniently unlocked. “After you, my dear.”

While he waited, Aziraphale meandered about the shop. He’d originally hovered around the front door, eyes scanning the spines on the shelves closest to him, brow furrowing when he repeatedly came across titles that more resembled religious texts rather than the mysteries he’d been expecting.

_ Right.  _ He’d just spent the past two weeks completely moving everything around, and like always, hadn’t bothered to change the labels. Where had he put those books? Aziraphale was feeling a hankering for something classic. Like Sherlock Holmes. Or perhaps some Agatha Christie. While he’d read each story in his collection already, Aziraphale liked to revisit the mysteries over and over again, picking up on all the little details he’d missed the first go around. Perhaps he’d go with ‘Murder on the Orient Express’ tonight. It was one of his absolute favorites. 

Footsteps sounded behind him as Aziraphale’s fingers gently pushed aside several knick-knacks to get to the object of his current desires. How had he accumulated so many things? Several polished stones, a feather, some miniature carvings of woodland critters. A handful of coins from the nineteenth century. He supposed keeping them on the shelf were helpful in deterring customers from putting their grubby hands on his books, but they also were an inconvenience when he was trying to locate something and couldn’t just miracle it into his hands. 

“Hey.”

Aziraphale turned around to find Thomas standing a few feet away, hand held out in front of him, the bandage damp and falling off. A thin trickle of blood could still be seen, but it had mostly dried up by now. Guilt flashed through him momentarily, but the angel brushed it off. He had done the right thing, miracling a partial cure for the man. In his six thousand years, Aziraphale had experienced his fair share of cuts and bruises. He was no stranger to the discomforts that pain could bring, although his were usually short-lived. 

If only he’d been able to make the cut disappear altogether.

“Sorry,” Thomas was saying, grey eyes fixed on the injury before him “I wasn’t thinking. I went to wash my hands and got it all wet. You wouldn’t happen to have another bandage around here, would you?”

Aziraphale didn’t, but somehow he miraculously found a box filled with them in his top desk drawer when he walked over to have a look. Thomas flashed him a tentative smile as Aziraphale stepped in closer to clean the wound once more and apply the fresh bandage. He watched as the gentle blush crept up his companion’s neck, settling in onto his cheeks. A soft fluttering erupted in the angel’s chest as the man reached his uninjured hand up and traced it lightly over Aziraphale’s round cheek.

For the first time since they’d met, the feeling in his heart was accompanied by a stab of pain.

“Thank you,” Thomas whispered, and there was a depth in his eyes that Aziraphale had never noticed before. “No one’s ever done that for me before.”

“Given you a bandage?” Aziraphale didn’t understand. Surely Thomas had experienced his fair share of scraped knees and bumped heads. All children got injured at one time or another as they grew up. The angel couldn’t even begin to count how many times he and Crowley had sat on their bench in St. James Park and watched a young one trip and fall and bang themselves up - angel and demon too engrossed in their conversation to realize what was happening until it was too late to put a stop to it. Why would Thomas be so affected by a simple cut on his hand?

“Been kind to me.” The words echoed loudly between them like a clap of thunder or the roar of a fierce wind. Aziraphale’s eyes widened. He couldn’t believe it, but there was something in the man’s voice that screamed he was telling the truth. That these words might have been the most truthful thing he had ever said in his life.

“Why did you do it?”

Hearing the question was almost as painful as the admission had been. Aziraphale felt the breath catch in his throat as he wondered just how he had missed this, whatever  _ this _ was. How had he missed all the hurt and pain this man had inside of him? How had he missed the fact that such a simple, natural act, for the angel had touched him so much? He was an angel, for Heaven’s sake! He was supposed to care for the broken and spread kindness and  _ love _ . How had he missed the fact that this man standing before him, whose hand was cradled within his own, needed it so obviously?

“You were hurting, my dear,” Aziraphale answered softly, his eyes never leaving Thomas’ face. “And I care for you. I didn’t want to see you in pain.”

Something stirred in the depths of those stormy grey eyes. It looked suspiciously like hope.

“Do you love me?”

The question came out of nowhere and caught the angel completely off guard. With the way things had been going lately, Aziraphale half expected his heart to swell and romantic music to soar in the background and the words ‘Yes, my love’ to tumble from his lips without his consent, but only silence filled the air around him. For the first time in weeks, Aziraphale felt like he had a clear mind.

Thomas was staring down at him with such intensity in his eyes that the angel took an extra moment to gather his thoughts. To choose his words carefully.

“There are many different types of love,” the angel explained, stroking his thumb back and forth against the back of Thomas’ injured hand. “I care about you very deeply. I love you as my friend. I love you as a human being. I love you as someone I want to keep in my life.”

This didn’t appear to be what the man wanted to hear. His jaw flexed slightly, adam’s apple bobbing up and down, but his eyes remained soft, shining under the bookshop’s golden light. If Aziraphale looked at them with just the right angel, he almost thought he could see tears.

“But do you _ love _ me?” he asked again, a bit harder. A bit more desperate this time. “Like…” he trailed off, trying to think of the words. “Like Romeo and Juliet. Robin Hood and Maid Marian. Adam and Eve. Do you love me like  _ that _ ?”

Aziraphale thought. He thought about the paintings and sitting in an overcrowded cafe drinking tea together. He thought about musicals and sushi and walking hand in hand under the city lamplight. He thought of strong hands and chaste kisses and gentlemanly conduct at every turn.

He thought about Crowley and the amber, snake-like eyes, the tousled red hair. The way the demon walked and spoke with his voice as smooth as velvet. The way Crowley’s smile - his  _ real  _ smile, the one he gave when he thought Aziraphale wasn’t looking - made him weak at the knees.

He thought of six thousand years of smiles and laughter and tears. Of sharing meals and secret meetups and facing down the end of the world and all that came after.

“No,” he finally whispered into the empty bookshop. He did love Thomas. Just not in the way the man wanted. And Aziraphale knew, in that moment, that he never would. He’d known for a long time that is heart belonged to only one being.

“Do you love Crowley?” The followup question was just as quiet. There was no anger, no malice or accusation. Just somber curiosity.

Aziraphale nodded his head and slowly released Thomas’ hand. “I do. More than anything else in this world or any other.”

Thomas was silent for what felt like an eternity. Aziraphale waited for him to say something, feeling the man had a right to whatever kind of goodbye he felt like leaving. The angel would love nothing more than their continued friendship, but he also realized that this wasn’t his decision to make. He would leave everything up to Thomas to decide what was best for him.

Eventually, the man met Aziraphale’s gaze again, offering up a forced smile. His face had changed, eyes hardening in a way the angel had never seen from him before. At his side, the man’s hand clenched open and shut three times as he let out a single, long breath, suspending it in the air between them.

The angel watched as Thomas raised a hand up above his shoulders, thumb and ring finger pressed together as tightly as his jaw was currently set. For the briefest of moments, Aziraphale truly believed the man was about to strike him across the face before storming out.

Looking back, even that would have been preferable to what happened next.

“Wrong answer, Aziraphale.”

He snapped his fingers, and the angel’s world went dark. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay! I finished the update this morning before my big meeting started (I'll be away from my computer all day, haha).
> 
> Up next is another interlude. I've got part of it figured out in my head, but I'm not entirely satisfied, so the next update may not be until later tomorrow or early on Saturday.
> 
> Hope you are all enjoying the direction this story is going in. Feel free to drop a comment and let me know what you think!


	19. Interlude: Hyde Park

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wars are fought on all scales and each one of them is as glorious as the next.

In the center of Hyde Park, there was a hill, and on that hill, there was a battle raging that had been in motions for millions of years. Tiny soldiers rushing forward across rough terrain, up mountains of dirt, past forests of grass, ultimately charging to their doom. They tore into each other, ripping heads from thoraxes, spewing guts in and amongst the weeds as life after life was torn from this world. Never to be seen again.

By this hill there was a bench and on this bench sat the semblance of a beautiful woman. She was tall and lithe, with fiery red hair that cascaded down her back in a waterfall of untamed curls. She was striking and dangerous and enticing and brought doom and despair to all who drew near her.

She was War.

On this particular autumn afternoon, War sat and watched the tiny, insignificant stream of ants as they trekked their way up the side of the hill, one set of legs scurrying after the ones in front of them. They were like a sea of destruction, trampling everything in their path. It was only a few inches wide – a mere trickle of destructive force to her, but she watched with bright green eyes transfixed on the chaos littering the ground below.

Wordlessly, the being lowered her arm, red-polished fingernails piercing into the wild throng. Instantly, several dozen ants diverted their course, scurrying up her finger, then both sides of her hand to her exposed arm. A malicious smile slowly formed on her ruby lips as the sting of pain exploded across her skin. She relished in it as one by one the ants convulsed, dropping off her body like rain in a summer storm.

She did this several times, feeling a surge of pride each time the minuscule creatures fell for her trap. There were millions of them, and yet she could kill every one if she chose. But where would the fun be in that? Wasn’t it much more enjoyable to watch them destroy each other?

It certainly was helping her to pass the time as she waited.

Eventually, she was joined by another figure, invisible to all eyes except her own. The humans walking by her should count themselves lucky they were blind in all the ways that mattered. In her opinion, the world would be much more interesting if they could all see the skeletal being, clothed in robes of starlight, in any other moment apart from the one right after they died. But this was not the way of the world. Not now, nor had it ever been.

War remained silent for a while, green eyes still staring at the throng of insects that had somehow become even more aggressive toward the colony they were invading. It was fascinating to watch as platoons of them broke off, swarming each opponent that appeared in their path. Climbing over them, ripping off legs and heads before discarding the parts like garbage and moving onto the next.

It was nature at its most horrid. She could stay here and watch for hours.

**YOU CALLED ME.**

The voice rang out in her head and the space where her heart should be and the air around them. She did not turn to face the figure, choosing to speak to the horde of creatures below her feet, knowing that he would hear her anyway.

He always did. He heard everything.

“The others aren’t back yet,” she began, scooting a toe forward to disrupt the flow of insects. Half of them diverted to go around her, the other half undeterred by her shiny black boot, choosing to climb overtop instead. “I figured it would be best for us to help them along.”

**ALL IN GOOD TIME.**

War leaned back on her bench, flipping the red curls over her shoulder as she cast him a disbelieving look. Perfectly shaped eyebrows raised, green eyes glistening behind dark glasses. “I assumed you would be anxious to get back to business. We were so rudely interrupted, after all.”

A strong gust of wind blew by the pair, scattering brown crinkled leaves back into the air. One of them drifted down and landed directly on top of the advancing swarm of insects. Within seconds, it was trampled underfoot.

With a wave of her hand, a tall Styrofoam cup of steaming black coffee appeared in her hand. She took a sip, breathing in deeply as the scorching liquid made its way down the back of her throat. Slowly, her eyes fluttered closed with delight.

**THE HUMANS WILL HELP THEM NOW, JUST AS THEY DID BACK THEN.**

War scoffed. If they were planning on waiting for the humans to help, it might be another thousand years before Armageddon reared its beautiful, ugly head again.

“You’re really willing to wait that long?” she asked, placing the piping hot cup down on the bench beside her. “I mean, sure, it only took them a few dozen years to bring the two of us into being, but it was centuries before the others made an appearance.”

**OTHER FORCES ARE AT WORK NOW**, the figure responded. A flash of blue shone from underneath the starry cowl. **WE WILL NOT HAVE TO BE PATIENT FOR LONG.**

She frowned. What other forces could he be talking about? The events that led up to her reemergence into the world were a bit fuzzy. She’d been at the airbase, moments away from the greatest war the world had ever known. It would have been a spectacle of fire and radiation and the complete obliteration of millions of species. A sight unmatched in all the universe.

And then those kids had shown up. She’d been faced down by a mere child and in the blink of an eye, she was gone. War didn’t remember much of where she’d went. It had been dark, but not frightening. Neither hot nor cold. She’d still had a connection to earth, still felt all the rage of each human being pulsing through her veins. She still _had_ veins, still had an awareness of time, but could not see or hear – taste, touch or smell.

All reasoning pointed to some sort of void. A void that she had been spectacularly sucked out of and tossed haphazardly into a raging inferno. Born from the fires of hatred and violence and to flames she would die when the world finally burned itself to the bitter end. There was much to do between now and then and she absolutely could not wait to get started.

It hadn’t taken her long to get her bearings. She was still in London. Less than a year had passed since she’d been here last. Immediately, War had realized that some of her companions were not back yet. And so, she had traveled here to wonder and wait until all her questions were answered.

“What sort of other forces?” It wasn’t as if she really needed to know. After all, this was his show to run. She was simply an overeager participant. Still, it would be nice if he would share some information with her for once. They had been together since the beginning – it was only fair.

_Well,_ she mused. _Not exactly the Beginning with a capital ‘B’. But close enough for it to count. _

Death was silent, staring down at her with unblinking, uncaring blue eyes that seemed to glow even under the light of the afternoon sky. She waited to see if he would make any sort of movement, any indication that he had even heard her. He did not.

Realizing that the conversation was over, War leaned forward, fingernails digging into her knees as she stood up. The Styrofoam cup made its way into her hands, but she did not drink from it. Instead, she stalked around the wooden bench, walking out of her way to crush as many of the crawling insects as she could before approaching the nearest lake. With a flourish of her wrist the container and its contents were dumped unceremoniously into the water below, liquid spreading out like a stain against the surface.

Death looked on with no response.

“What?” she purred with all the innocence of a bank robber and politician combined, green eyes wide, hint of a smile upon her lips. “It can’t hurt, can it?”

And with that, War walked away, no particular destination in mind. If she was going to be forced to wait for answers, there was no reason she had to do so quietly.

It was time to stir up some trouble.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys. I cannot express how excited I am for this story to continue. I've finally figured out how I want this to end and how I'm going to get there and it. Is. So. COOL!!! I really hope you all love it as much as I do. I cannot wait to see what everyone thinks as we progress.
> 
> Short interlude this time. I know you guys are all anxious to find out what happens with Aziraphale, so hang tight. I'll get the next chapter up as soon as I can!


	20. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley discovers Aziraphale is missing.

Everything was fine. It was absolutely fine. Crowley was not worried. He was not panicking. And he was most certainly not pacing across the floor of his flat amidst the trembling plants staring mercilessly at the ticking clock on his wall, watching as every second seemed to crawl by.

Aziraphale was fine. There was absolutely no reason for Dantalion to do anything tonight. He’d been the one to reveal himself to Crowley, not the other way around, and he hadn’t done anything to harm the angel then. What reason would he have to do so now? Crowley may not know what the Duke’s plan was, but he was positive that nothing he or Anathema had done that night had tipped him off they knew his identity. Probably.

Maybe.

The demon threw himself down onto the black leather couch with a huff. With the snap of his fingers his shoes were off and the television was on, already knowing exactly which channel to turn itself to. He didn’t even have to reach for the remote. 

Fifteen episodes of The Golden Girls later and Crowley was not feeling remotely better. The only positive aspect he found about his situation was that the sun was  _ finally _ starting to filter in through the window opposite him, signaling the start of what was surely to be a very long day.

Now, the nerves churning in the demon’s stomach were of an entirely different nature. He thought back to the previous night, to the feeling of Aziraphale’s hand on his as the angel said his goodbyes. 

_ There’s something you need to know. Something about me I haven’t told you, and I need you to know. _

Crowley didn’t have a plan. He didn’t even have a remote inkling of a plan. All he knew was he had to get Aziraphale alone. Had to do something to sever his connection with Dantalion enough that the demon wouldn’t be able to follow them to the stars. Say or do something that would shock Aziraphale’s system, jolt him out of his love-induced stupor enough that the angel wouldn’t fight him when Crowley took them far away. 

What better way to do that than confess six  _ thousand _ years of repressed feelings?

It was all Anathema’s idea.  _ Tell him how you feel,  _ she’d breathed in his ear as he’d hugged her goodbye.  _ Get him to safety _ .  _ We’ll be ok. _

Demons weren’t supposed to hand out blessings, but Crowley had never been good at doing what he was told. He’d hugged her a bit tighter in that moment and poured every blessing he knew into her, hoping it would be enough to save them too.

If this worked - if he was able to save his angel - Crowley would owe her big time.

“So that's when this salesman from men's sportswear walks clear across the store into ladies' petite and says, "Oh excuse me, miss, but I noticed you’ve been having a hard time deciding between the turquoise strapless and the flaming red backless. Well, personally I'd like to see you in the backless.”

The demon turned his attention back to the television, focusing his serpentine gaze on the older human dressed in a turquoise collared shirt. A hint of a smile appeared on his face as she continued with her story.

“And I said, "When?" And he said, "How about Saturday night?" And I said, "How about in your dreams, sleazo!" Can you believe the nerve of that guy?”

There was a pause as the camera cut from Blanche to Rose and Crowley sat up a little straighter. The punchline already playing in his mind.

_ What were you doing in ladies petites? _

The line never came. Instead, the image shifted, becoming staticy for a moment before Betty White turned to face the camera and opened her mouth to speak.

**Crowley.**

The demon’s blood froze, then increased to an almost instantaneous boil. He was on his feet in an instant.

**Crowley, you cannot escape your punishment forever. It is time for you to take what is due.**

“What are you going to do, Hastur?” Crowley spit. If the demon was surprised Crowley had recognized his voice, he did not show it. “You lot tried and failed. The Holy Water didn’t work, remember? I’m untouchable.”

He hoped his words sounded more confident than he felt. Under the hissing, spitting rage, Crowley was terrified. They had Aziraphale. There was no way this was a coincidence. He should have just taken his chances last night in the car, but he could only imagine how much pain that would have caused his angel to be ripped from Earth while sitting in Dantalion’s presence. Crowley had thought he had a little more time. He had thought the angel would have been safe one more night. He’d had a plan, dammit! And now Aziraphale was lost.

No. Crowley would not allow it. Not lost. He would get Aziraphale back. 

Betty White grinned, her blue eyes sparkling with more malice than he’d ever seen on a human’s face. The image on the screen blurred, phasing in and out like static before becoming crystal clear once more. 

Crowley’s heart clenched in pain. He felt the air leave his lungs and it was only by a small miracle he didn’t collapse to his knees in that moment. 

Aziraphale was alone in a windowless room made entirely of stone. There were cracks in the floor and lights flickering against each wall, casting an unbalanced cold light around him. Fury washed through Crowley as his eyes took in the tight cords around his angel’s wrists, binding him to the cold metal chair beneath him.

His clothes were in a state that would certainly make the angel blush with embarrassment, but from what he could see, they were not torn. Just rumpled. A shred of thick black fabric encased the blue eyes Crowley loved so much and he watched with trembling hands as the image of his angel began to look about, as if moving his head would help alleviate the sudden darkness he’d found himself in. 

There was no sound associated with the image feed, no matter how sternly Crowley glared at the electronic device, willing it to tell him everything. Still, the demon could tell Aziraphale was conscious. Thankfully, from what he could see, it didn’t look like the angel had been harmed. Not yet, at least. 

**We don’t need to touch you. Not anymore. Have a nice existence, Crowley.**

“No!” the demon shouted, lunging at the screen, his hands gripping either side of the black surface. Golden Girls was already back and the scene had picked up once more. Still, Crowley screamed on. “I swear to all that is Holy or otherwise. I. Will. Destroy You. All of you! Do you hear me?”

He was fairly certain they could. Even if the connection had been cut, Crowley knew they’d be watching his movements somehow. Hell had taken Aziraphale to torture him. And what fun would the torture be if they couldn’t sit back and enjoy the show?

In the blink of an eye, he was inside Aziraphale’s shop.

“Aziraphale!” the demon called out, amber eyes searching for any sign of a struggle. Anything to suggest Hastur had been lying. That the image he’d seen wasn’t real. There was a chance the other demon had fabricated the video, just to cause Crowley pain. He wouldn’t put it past Hastur.

Crowley also wouldn’t put it past him to be in league with Dantalion. What should he do? How much time should he waste here looking for answers? Would he even be able to get back down into Hell to rescue Aziraphale? Had they barred the door? Even if he could get down there, how was one demon supposed to fight off all of Hell, even to save an angel?

“Aziraphale!” The name tore out of his lungs, ripping at his throat. He was surrounded by fire and smoke once more, fear pulsing through his entire being as Crowley stumbled through the shop, looking for something he could use - anything that would get him to the only being in the entire universe he cared about other than himself.

There was nothing.

The bookshop was absolutely spotless. No sign of forced entry. No evidence of a struggle. Not even a lingering trace of a demonic scent other than his own. There was noth-

_ Hang on _ . Crowley stopped, his serpentine eyes fixating on a bookshelf to his right. Only now did the demon realize he’d forgotten to grab his sunglasses before fleeing his flat. He could have miracled himself a fresh pair at any moment, but he was too distracted now to care. Not when he realized what was sitting right before his very eyes. 

A single feather, pristinely white, nearly a foot and a half in length, sat in front of a row of books on the second highest shelf. Immediately, Crowley was standing in front of it, brushing his fingers against the barbs, feeling the prickling Holy heat as it made contact with his skin.

What the fuck was an unknown angel’s feather doing in Aziraphale’s bookshop?

Crowley’s stomach sank. There could only be one explanation. Heaven was still keeping tabs on Aziraphale. Suddenly, his situation became a thousand times more complicated.

He’d storm all of Hell to keep his angel safe. Apparently now, there was a chance he’d be storming Heaven too.

The demon gritted his teeth, fist clenching around the feather, ignoring the uncomfortable tingle of energy as it traveled up the length of his arm. There was only one place left to go.

It would have been just as easy to miracle himself into the building, but Crowley preferred to storm inside instead. His palms slammed up against the revolving door, shattering the glass of not only the door, but the entire first floor front wall. The sound of it echoed around him, filling the demon with a grim sense of satisfaction as he casually stepped over the pile of broken shards. Reaching into his pocket, Crowley pulled out a pair of black glasses that had most certainly not been there a moment before and slid them onto his face.

He strode forward, absolutely no hint of a plan in his mind. He didn’t need one to know that he was going to destroy every last one of them. Flood the entire place with Holy Water if he had to and bask in their screams as they melted into oblivion. And then, once that was over and done with, he would fly up to Heaven and burn it to the ground. No one would ever lay a finger on his angel again and then maybe, just  _ maybe _ , they would finally be free to just  _ be. _

Footsteps echoed across polished tile floor as the demon took one purposeful step after the other. His eyes were fixed on a singular point on the ground, fury rising with each inch he put behind him, bringing the demon ever closer to his destination

Ever closer to having Aziraphale in his arms once again.

This was all his fault. If he’d just been a bit quicker to notice what was wrong. If he’d just asked for help sooner. If he’d  _ just _ bloody told Aziraphale how he felt, this could have been avoided. 

Even if they both got out of this alive, Crowley would never forgive himself.

As the demon’s foot made contact with the particular tile he’d been eyeing since he stepped over the threshold, he paused. Furrowing his brow, Crowley placed a second foot on the spot. Nothing happened. He took another step forward, looking for the familiar ripple of distorted space as the stairway to Hell made itself known. The ground remained as stationary as ever.

_ Those bastards.  _ They had sealed the doorway on him.

“COWARDS!” He screamed, miracling the heaviest thing he could think of - a rather large dumbbell - and hurled it at the ground beneath his feet. Instead of sinking into the floor, it bounced off once and thudded to a halt a foot or so away. 

What was he supposed to do now? How was he going to rescue Aziraphale if he couldn’t even get to him? The demon hung his head in despair, reaching up to press the heel of his hands into his eyes, preventing the tears from falling.

_ Think.  _ He’d snuck out of Hell before, when the world was new and Sin had yet to be invented. He’d been the only one of them clever enough to find his way into The Garden. Surely, if he could get out of Hell, the demon could find a way back in. Shit, it should be easier to get in as opposed to sneaking out. Who in their right mind would willingly try to find a hidden backdoor leading  _ into _ Hell?

In all likelihood, it probably wasn’t all that hidden. He just had to find a clue where to look.

How had he done it before? It felt like a lifetime ago. Crowley wasn’t sure he would ever remember, but he was going to damn well try. Whatever it took to get Aziraphale out of there. As quickly as he possibly could.

What else could he use to his advantage here? What other knowledge did the demon have tucked away in his mind that could help him find his way to Aziraphale. Who knows what kind of unimaginable torture they had in mind for his angel. Crowley couldn’t even begin to try and stomach it all. Whips, chains, knives, electrical shock, hellfire.

_ Hellfire. _ There was something there, if he just let his mind linger a little longer. The last time Crowley had seen hellfire, he’d been tied to a chair in the whitewashed expanse that was Heaven.

_ Have we heard from our new associate? _ Gabriel had asked that question as he’d stood right before Crowley with those soulless violet eyes. The Archangel had been talking about a demon - specifically the demon who had provided the very thing Gabriel had tried to use to kill Aziraphale.

Now, how would a demon go about making his way to Heaven, besides the obvious switching bodies with an angel trick? There had to be a backdoor somewhere. There was no way someone like Gabriel would allow a creature from Hell to be seen waltzing in through the main entrance. No. He’d use a back staircase or a fire exit or even a window.

It didn’t matter what it was. As long as Crowley knew the entrance existed he could find it. Subconsciously, the demon began to twirl the feather he still held onto between his fingers, watching as its shadow danced across the floor beneath his feet. He could do this. He could find a door to Aziraphale. He would squeeze his way through, no matter how small an opening, and rescue his angel once and for all

He just needed a bit of help to get started. When demonic magic didn’t work and celestial magic was out of the question, there was only one thing left to try.

Magic of a human kind.

Turning to face the glowing escalator that lead up toward the sunlit sky, Crowley sneered, filling his expression with all the hatred and fury he could muster. Willing his words to echo throughout the entire building so that everyone would know exactly what was coming for them.

“You should have just left us alone.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is coming to you suuuuuuuper early this morning. I was having some trouble sleeping after the insane night I had earlier (friends and I were at a bar when a car plowed through the front wall of the building across the room from us - suffice to say, I'm still a bit shaken). Seeing as it is now Saturday and I have nothing on my schedule (hallelujah), there is a very decent chance you will see another update in about 12 - 15 hours :) See you all then!
> 
> Also, The Golden Girls is a fabulous show and you should check it out if you've never seen it before. Even just watching some of the highlights is a delight.


	21. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley assembles a team to help rescue Aziraphale.

“Let me get this straight,” Anathema finally said as she twirled the white feather between the tips of her fingers, brown eyes peering out from behind a pair of wide rimmed black glasses. “You want me to use some kind of “human magic”, as you call it, to use this feather to find a backdoor to Hell. So you can sneak in and free Aziraphale, who  _ several _ demon lords currently have captured and restrained. But you have no plan as to how you’re actually going to accomplish that.”

A beat of silence followed as Crowley waited to see if she was finished patronizing him. He didn’t want to deal with this right now and it was only the knowledge that the demon  _ needed  _ Anathema that kept him from changing forms and striking terror into her heart right then and there.

“They’re Dukes, not Lords,” he correctly, mostly because he could and there wasn’t really much left for him to say. The witch had pretty much summed it all up. 

“Crowley!” the woman scolded from her seat on the front porch, clearly not appreciating his sass. After finding he’d been locked out of Hell, Crowley had immediately come to ask for her help again. He’d been in such a rush, the demon hadn’t even bothered using his car, he’d simply appeared at her doorstep, startling the woman as she sipped her morning coffee. “This is serious. You can’t just rush into Hell, of all places, without a plan. Even if your intentions are pure, I don’t need to be a seer to tell you that things won’t end well for either one of you.”

The demon scowled. “My intentions aren’t pure.” Even now, when his entire world was at stake, Crowley couldn’t let it go. “I’m a demon. I obviously want to steal Aziraphale back for selfish reasons. He’s mine. Hell doesn’t get to have him.”

Anathema rolled her eyes and Crowley took a deep breath. He had been sure that coming here was the right thing to do. There was no one left in Heaven or Hell who would help him now, which left only Earth. The demon didn’t have many human acquaintances - he really didn’t have many at all outside Aziraphale.

Even so, Crowley would have to be blind not to realize that Anathema Device was probably the only human on the whole planet who might be able to help him save Aziraphale now. 

“Even if I did know how to use this to find a way into Hell, you can’t just waltz down there and demand they give Aziraphale back. Crowley, we’re talking about the entirety of _Hell._” The woman paused, placing the ceramic mug gently on the circular table beside her. At the edge of his hearing, the demon could hear footsteps shuffling around inside. No doubt the boyfriend would be joining them soon. Did all humans wake up this early? The sun had barely risen above the horizon, still hidden behind the trees scattered about them. When he slept, Crowley rarely woke before noon. He couldn’t imagine voluntarily getting out of bed with so much morning left to sleep through.  
“Didn’t you tell me there are ten _million_ demons in Hell?” She didn’t need his response to confirm her suspicions. Anathema’s memory was air tight. 

“Yeah,” the demon protested, crossing his arms in a huff. “But I’m not planning on fighting them all, or anything. I’m just going to find the door, sneak down there, grab Aziraphale, and then sneak on back up. Easy.”

“No,” Anathema protested as her boyfriend stepped outside to join them, dressed in blue plaid pajama pants and a fluffy navy robe. He was as bad as Aziraphale when it came to choice in clothes.

Crowley’s heart ached at the thought of him.

“Not easy, Crowley. What if you’re spotted? What if once you get in, the door closes and you can’t get out again? If they’ve taken Aziraphale, then they will be expecting you to come rescue him. They are going to have a trap set for you. You’ll be walking right into it.”

The demon snorted, his desperation growing by the second. “My, it sounded there for a moment like you cared, Anathema.”

Her brown eyes narrowed, but the woman said nothing. Her boyfriend - Newton, the demon suddenly remembered, not that it made much of a difference - took a step forward, placing his hand gently on the woman’s shoulder.

“Of course we care, Crowley,” he pointed out, like it was the most obvious fact in the world. “You’re our friend. You both are.”

The demon glared at him from behind his dark shades, but deep down, he didn’t have the energy to refute the man. Imagine, a demon and humans friends! It was preposterous. Why would they want to be friends with him? Knowing what he was. 

Just then, the soft chime of metal against metal rang through the air. Crowley turned to find four very familiar faces cycling their way toward him, wide grins plastered on their faces. 

_ Honestly. _ Was there some kind of requirement that everyone in this godforsaken town be awake before 8am? Why were these children not still at home? He didn’t need them butting their heads in where they didn’t belong. Crowley would swear until the day the world finally did end that this had  _ nothing _ to do with his desire to protect them. He was a demon and demons didn’t protect children.  _ Demons _ prevented children from getting their sticky fingers all over business of an occult nature. Couldn’t have them getting involved and thwarting his wiles, could he?

“Hey Crowley,” Adam greeted with a wave as he pulled his bicycle to a halt. The demon watched with narrowed eyes as the boy dismounted and placed the vehicle gently up against the ivy covered wall before stepping toward them, his trio of followers close behind. Despite all his efforts, the children kept coming. Apparently, demonic influences didn’t affect former-Antichrists and their friends.

Either that or Crowley was losing his touch.

“Where’s your husband?” The short child with the glasses asked. “You know, the blonde one that dresses like he’s from the 1800s.”

Crowley froze at the tiny human’s question. His husband. His  _ husband _ ? These tiny humans thought he and Aziraphale were married? Why? Was there something they’d picked up on that he’d missed? Or were they just making assumptions haphazardly. He wanted to pounce on the boy and start interrogating him, but before the demon could get a word in edgewise, the dark-haired girl beat him to the punch. 

Shel placed her hands on her hips and huffed at her friend. “You can’t just  _ ask _ people that, Wensleydale,” she reprimanded. “You’ve no idea the status of their relationship. They could be just friends, or maybe they’re only boyfriends. Or  _ maybe _ they don’t even identify as both male. Did you even think about that?”

“Oh come off it, Pepper,” the boy with the ridiculous name shot back. Honestly, who named a child Wensleydale? Did they  _ want  _ him to get tormented more than necessary? “It’s so obvious they’re together. You have eyes, right? Did you see them at the airbase?”

The girl, Pepper, narrowed her deep brown eyes. “You still can’t assume anything. It’s rude.”

Crowley didn’t realize tears were streaming down his cheeks until Anathema rose to her feet and passed him a handkerchief from the pocket hidden in her dress. He took it quickly, noticing as Adam’s hazel eyes widened.

“Shit,” the kid murmured, shoving his hands into his pockets. “What happened?”

“Watch your language,” Crowley grumbled, a sob catching in his throat as he thought of Aziraphale’s stern voice and brilliant blue eyes, telling him the same thing day after day. Crowley had rarely listened. He was a demon after all. A demon with a reputation to uphold. 

A reputation that was quickly falling to pieces. 

“Don’t worry about it, kids,” Anathema soothed. By the sudden intense looks on their faces, they weren’t buying it. “We’ve got everything under control. Why don’t you run along and go play in the woods?”

Silence fell between them for a moment. The three normal humans looked toward their leader. Crowley met Adam’s concerned gaze and for a moment, the demon was absolutely sure the boy could see through each and every defense he’d put up around him.

“If Aziraphale’s in trouble, we’re staying to help.”

He knew by the sound of the boy’s voice there would be no debating that fact. They were wasting precious time as it was. Who knew how much pain Aziraphale had been made to endure already? The thought of it made Crowley want to collapse to the ground in a pathetic heap of despair and longing, but he forced himself to remain in one piece. His angel needed him now more than ever. He wasn’t about to let Aziraphale down. Not now. Not ever. 

“Look,” the demon began, addressing the boy standing before him. “Long story short, Aziraphale’s been kidnapped by demons. We need to find a backdoor to Hell so I can sneak in and rescue him and Heaven and Hell won’t help us. All we have to work with is this angel feather from some other random angel I don’t even know and whatever witchy powers Anathema has at her disposal. Now would be the time to start firing off ideas.”

It took the children exactly four and a half seconds to start speaking.

“We could cast some kind of locating spell,” the dirty child whose name still escaped Crowley. “Like they have in D&D. Locate Creature.”

Once again, the girl huffed. “That’s not going to work. Locate Creature only works if the angel we’re looking for is within a thousand feet.”

“It would work,” the glasses kid - Wesley or Wombly or something like that - protested. “If there’s not an angel within a thousand feet, then it will just find the closest one.” He turned to address Crowley without a hint of fear in his eyes. “Which one is closer to where we are now? Heaven or Hell?”

“They’re equidistant from Earth,” he found himself answering before his mind could fully process what they’d just said. What were these ridiculous children talking about? Crowley hadn’t really expected them to help much, but this blatant disregard for the seriousness of this situation was unbelievable. “Wouldn’t be fair to have one closer than the other.”

The kids frowned, clearly understanding the implications of his response better than the demon had. Before he could open his mouth to ask for clarification, they moved onto the next idea.

“What about a summoning circle,” Adam suggested, bending down to pick up a stick and trace it lightly through the dirt at his feet. “People use them to summon demons, right? We should be able to summon an angel, shouldn’t we? They’re basically the same thing.”

Crowley was about to open his mouth to point out that, no, in fact angels and demons were not the same, but Anathema beat him to it.

“I’m afraid that won’t work either,” she mentioned, a strange heaviness to her voice. “Demon summonings require very specific wording and if they’re done wrong, they can be very dangerous. I don’t think the words people have used historically would apply to an angel.”

Their faces fell, but Crowley didn’t pay much attention to the downtrodden human children. He was too busy focusing his amber eyes on the witch’s face, eyebrows raising minutely as Anathema turned into his gaze.

“I am a witch,” she pointed out, like it was an obvious fact. “I may not have ever summoned a demon before, but I know the general idea of how it all works.”

Pity. He would have liked to have seen an angel trapped in one of those circles, bound to its master’s every whim until it was banished back home. The demon’s mind was momentarily filled with thought of glee as he imagined that Assface Gabriel stuck in Anathema’s living room, bound to help locate and rescue Aziraphale from the depths of Hell. What a sight that would be.

“What if we tried praying?”

All eyes turned to face the tall, lanky man still standing underneath the front awning. Newton was gazing out at them, arms crossed loosely in front of him, shifting back and forth from one foot to the other. As soon as he realized his comment had effectively stopped the conversation, his eyes darted up to Crowley’s face, a red flush creeping up his neck.

“Praying?” Adam asked slowly. “To a feather?”

The man shrugged. “To the owner of the feather. You said it belonged to an angel, right?” Crowley nodded his head and Newton continued. “It stands to reason that if you can pray to God, praying to an angel shouldn’t be all that different, right?”

How the bloody Heaven was he supposed to know? He’d never bloody well done it before. What use would Crowley have to want to talk to any of those white-winged bastards?

“Couldn’t hurt to try,” Anathema sighed, waving everyone inside. Crowley glanced upward, relieved to see that the horseshoe had been successfully removed from the threshold. He had absolute no desire to go through anything like that if he could avoid it. 

“How are we going to do this?” the woman asked, turning toward her boyfriend as Crowley perched on the armrest of the nearest chair, watching with hidden eyes as the four children took a seat on the living room floor, in a sort of circular shape around the old wooden coffee table. Without a word, Newton reached forward and plucked the feather from Anathema’s hand, placing it gingerly on the table between them.

“You coming to join us?” Newton’s voice cut through the air around them as Crowley watched both humans take their places on the floor beside the children, Anathema across the table from Adam and Newton sandwiched between Pepper and the dirty boy. 

The demon held up a hand in protest. “Trust me,” he explained, a smirk appearing in the corner of his mouth. “You don’t want me anywhere near this. I’ll probably catch the whole house on fire, or worse, blow up the whole town. You humans have at it.”

Shrugging, Newton offered up his hands and the children took it. Hand in hand, the six humans created a linked circle around the holy artifact, closing their eyes. The air around them seemed to still as all the minds in the room focused their thoughts on the one object resting gently between them.

“Anyone want to give this a shot?” Newton asked out loud, his eyes still squeezed shut. After a second of hesitation, the dirty boy spoke up. 

“I’ll give it a go.”

He took a deep breath and began. “Oh mighty angel, we come before you, humble and beseeching. You who are mighty and pure of heart. Ever this day, be at our side. To light and guard, to rule and guide. To help us in our greatest time of need. We ask you for guidance now. Amen.”

There were a few mumbled sentiments before silence fell between them.

Crowley had to admit, it was a pretty good formal prayer for something the kid had just made up. It had all the pomp and circumstance that most prayers these days tended to weave in their midst. He imagined a self-centered pricks like Gabriel would have eaten it up.

Unfortunately for them, nothing happened. Keeping their eyes shut, the humans tried again, this time with Newton leading the way.

“Erm.” This was getting off to a grand start. Crowley barely suppressed a groan, trying not to think too hard about the demonic cords that had wound their way tightly around his angel’s wrists. “Hello there. Sorry to bother you. I’m sure you’re quite busy with all that Heavenly business and such, but we could really use some help.”

Newton paused, squeezing his hands a bit tighter on either side. The demon watched from his perch as the pulse traveled both ways around the circle, reassurance passing from one human to the other with the simple touch. “You see, a friend of ours is in trouble, and we need someone to help guide us to him. Please, we don’t know where else to turn. Help us find him. Help us bring him home safely. He’s a very dear friend and we want him back.”

A quiver of emotion snuck its way into Newton’s voice as he finished. As far as prayers went, the kids was much better, in Crowley’s opinion. There was no way this would work. Except, as the man had been speaking, Crowley had found himself leaning forward in his seat, eyes fixed on the feather at the center of it all, heart pounding away in his chest. There was something in the way Newton had spoken, something not in the words that he’d chosen, but the way he’d said them that had moved the demon in a way he had not expected.

This wasn’t going to work. They were pulling at strings now, trying to get something to catch. It was hopeless. Crowley was going to have to find another way to get down into Hell. Worst case scenario, he could always discorporate himself. The demon would spend the rest of eternity stuck in that dump if it meant his angel would be safe.

_ Please, _ his heart cried out. For once, Crowley didn’t try to hold it back.  _ Help me save him. _

Then, before the demon even had time to blink there was a rush of wind and a flash of blinding light. His hands shot up to protect himself, but the brightness was gone as suddenly as it had come. Instead of a single feather sitting between them, there was a humanoid figure standing in its place. He was fairly tall and young looking, with soft brown hair tied back away from his brown eyes with a single neat braid. White robes hung over his thin frame and mounted on his back, glowing a brilliant soft-gold was a pair of pearly white wings.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As promised, here's your second chapter for today. We're going to stick with Crowley's perspective for the most part here, but I may add a little from Aziraphale before the team makes their way down to Hell. We'll see how the words flow.
> 
> Thanks to all my wonderful readers so far :) I am so glad you all are along for the ride with me. Hope everyone is having a good time! I will see you all tomorrow (probably). Until then, have a great rest of your day!


	22. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The rescue team finds a few new members to help out.

For a moment, no one moved. Six humans sat cross-legged on the floor, staring up at a still partially glowing angel with their mouths hanging wide open. Crowley would have rolled his eyes if it wasn’t for the fact that he was still reeling. How had this worked? He hadn’t expected it to, even though the demon had hoped. How had these six humans managed to summon an angel from Heaven? It was unheard of and yet, here he was.

He glanced down at Newton and Anathema, waiting for one of them to take charge. It wasn’t that Crowley didn’t feel comfortable in this situation. He’d dealt with loads of angels in his day. Before, that had been a much easier task. After what happened with Armageddon, there was no telling what this angel would do to him when he realized Crowley was in the room. It was much safer to let the humans take charge.

When several moments passed and they did nothing, the demon grew irritated. What was wrong with them? Had time been frozen somehow without him realizing it? No, that couldn’t be it. Newton was definitely blinking a lot more than was normal. So why weren’t they reacting.

Crowley looked back at the figure clothed in white and suddenly he understood. Apart from Adam and maybe Anathema with her crazy aura seeing powers, none of them had ever seen Aziraphale with his wings. They’d been stunned into silence.

There wasn’t much left to do but say hello and hope he didn’t get discorporated on the spot. Crowley gritted his teeth. This was going to be fun. 

“Excuse me,” the demon began, drawing the attention of the entire room. Crowley kept his eyes fixed on the angel, watching as the being turned to face him. Brown eyes blinked twice as he took in the demon’s form, his face remaining more neutral than Crowley had ever seen anyone look before. “Hi. Hello. Thanks for, uh, for showing up to help out.” He winced internally. How fucking eloquent. If only Aziraphale could see him now. 

Something akin to recognition dawned in the angel’s eyes and Crowley felt a sudden urge to race out Anathema’s front door and never come back. Clenching his fist, the demon choked the panic back down and locked gazes with the angel, waiting to see what he would say.

“Crowley,” the voice was mildly surprised, but did not seem all that upset. The demon shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “What an interesting turn of events. I must take a moment to thank you humans. You’ve saved me a trip.”

The demon was instantly on his feet, torn between snapping his fingers and getting the hell out of here and rushing the winged creature before it could do anything to harm the humans currently in this room. Crowley was fairly certain the angel wouldn’t directly go after them, but he’d had a front seat to Armageddon. Crowley remembered the exact lack of concern Heaven had shown for humanity getting caught in the crossfire. He wasn’t about to risk it. 

“What the fuck are you on about?” 

“Crowley!” Anathema’s reaction was instantaneous and although she never rose to her feet, the demon could feel her presence take command of the room. “We asked him here to help us. You would do well to remember that.”

Adam was the first of them to stand. While Crowley was still at war in his mind over what to do, the boy rose to his feet and stuck out a hand in greeting. Without missing a beat, the angel did exactly what was expected of him.

“Adam Young. Pleasure to meet you.”

A hint of a smile appeared in the angel’s eyes. “Amariel. At your service. I believe the six of you requested my help? What seems to be the issue?”

Crowley couldn’t take this anymore. As the rest of the humans made to stand, the demon seethed silently in his place. Who was this angel? Why had he been looking for Crowley? What did he know about Aziraphale? How could he act so  _ bloody calm  _ when one of his own was being tortured in hell?

“Don’t toy with us!” the demon shouted, taking a step forward, letting his anger and frustration and fear flow through him. “You’re a bloody angel, you know what the issue is!”

He watched with burning golden eyes as Amariel took a step down on to the floor where Adam had been sitting previously, drawing his wings tightly against his body, but not fully putting them away. “Of course I know what the issue is,” Amariel responded in a clear voice. There was no trace of irritation. No indication that the angel was angry or disgusted or worried in any way. No indication he felt anything at all. “But part of the process is allowing you to walk me through it. Sometimes, when asking for help, the act of explaining the problem can bring to light a solution you hadn’t thought of before.”

Oh, Crowley was going to murder this creature. He was going to wring the angel’s skinny little neck. Sure, it would only discorporate him, but surely doing so would make the demon feel better.

Insead of explaining their situation to an angel that already knew, Crowley launched into his own set of questions. “Why was one of your feathers in Aziraphale’s bookshop? Why were you planning a trip to Earth to find me? What do you know about Aziraphale’s kidnapping and will you get that holy stick out of your  _ ass _ and help us find him?”

Crowley hated this. He hated every second of this. What if this angel had come to them as a distraction? What if he was supposed to work to prevent Crowley from finding the doorway to Hell. What if he was part of the trap? Neither Heaven nor Hell were very pleased with how events had played out six months ago. Was it impossible to imagine them teaming up to try once again to get even? They’d done it once and Crowley and Aziraphale had outwitted them. Perhaps they were trying again.

Whatever he had expected to come next, the demon had not anticipated Amariel’s answer. He had not expected the angel to come forward with the truth. People liked to say that angels didn’t lie. It made sense, if demons were the liars and angels were supposed to be their opposites, then angels should neve lie.

Except that was complete and utter bullshit. Aziraphale had lied  _ to God’s face _ the first day Crowley had met him. The demon had immediately been transfixed with the immensely kind being who would go against Heaven’s orders and give away his sword to the humans that needed it most. It was in that moment, when Aziraphale admitted to giving the sword away, that Crowley’s affections for the angel began. He’d been doomed ever since.

“I was tasked with keeping an eye on Aziraphale after the events that transpired six months ago. Once, he caught me in the shop in a different form and in my plight to get back outside, I lost a feather. He must have kept it. As for you, I was asked by one of the Archangels to find you. I was on my way down to Earth anyway when I received your message and came straight here.”

The angel paused, as if considering whether to answer anything else. Finally, he sighed and continued on. “I, personally, don’t know all of the details regarding the Principality’s disappearance, but I work for someone who does. She is willing to help you, in exchange for something else.”

Something else? What could Crowley possibly have that an angel could want enough to lead him into Hell? This had to be some kind of trap, he just knew it. At this point, what other options did he have? Aziraphale was alone down there, at the mercy of Hastur and Dantalion and any other number of demons. Crowley would do whatever it took to save his angel, even at the expense of his own self.

“Sure,” the demon grumbled. “Why the hell not.” He stuck out a hand for the angel to take. “I’ll do whatever your angel boss wants if she’ll find me a way into Hell. You have my word.”

Insead of making some clever quip about the relative worth of a demon’s word, Amariel simply held out his hand in return. Before they could shake on it, Anathema stepped between them, placing her back to Crowley as she addressed the angel in their midst. 

“We’re going too,” she announced, flashing Crowley a quick smile over her shoulder. He would have laughed at Newton’s sudden surprise if he hadn’t been trying to hold back tears. What was the girl thinking? She couldn’t come with him to  _ Hell _ to save Aziraphale. “Aziraphale is our friend too and if there’s a chance we could help save him, we’re going to take it.”

He seemed to regard her with new intent. After a breath of hesitation, Amariel lowered his hand and nodded. “Very well,” he agreed. “I can take you all as far as the Lobby. You won’t be permitted in Heaven or Hell, but I see no harm in letting you come along for the discussion. Everyone grab on.”

There was a shuffle as all the humans moved in closer to the angel. Carefully, so he didn’t knock anything over, the angel spread his wings and wrapped them around the humans, ensuring that they were all there before he took off. For a brief moment, the demon met Anathema’s gaze. She gave him a reassuring smile before a section of white feathers obscured her face from his sight.

“I’ll meet you there,” Crowley muttered before snapping his fingers and vanishing from the room. He rematerialized a millisecond later in the empty room, grimacing as his boots crunched over shards of broken glass. With a wave of his hand, the clear barrier repaired itself, erasing all signs of the demon’s previous fit.

Just in time, as the next moment Amariel appeared with six humans clinging to him, a look of mild discomfort on his face. Crowley grinned despite himself. Watching the prissy angel suffer, even if it was only a little bit, filled him with such satisfaction.

“Right,” Crowley’s voice called out, echoing off the vaulted ceiling. Forcing the grin to remain on his face, the demon sauntered over to the rest of his entourage. “Where is this angel boss of yours. We don’t have all day, you know.”

Instead of responding, Amariel lowered his wings and turned toward the escalator at the far side of the room. A figure was standing at the top - feminine, short, with shining black hair and features that resembled humans of Eastern Asian descent. 

There was a very brief moment where Crowley was almost certain he knew this angel. It was gone in an instant as she reached the bottom level and practically glided across the room toward them, her brown eyes never once leaving Crowley’s face.

“Amariel,” she greeted warmly, much kinder than the demon had expected her to greet a subordinate. Every angel he’d ever associated with were right dicks to the angels that worked under them. “You’ve brought quite the crew with you.”

She didn’t seem upset, but something inside warned Crowley that he should tread carefully. Again, he was faced with the feeling that he was fairly certain this angel would not hurt the humans in front of her, but that she definitely had the capacity to if she wanted and may not be opposed to them getting hurt if they got in the way. 

Crowley watched as the new angel looked them over one by one, a soft smile on her face, as if she already knew all about them without ever having spoken to them before. When her eyes fell on Adam, the smile turned into a full on grin.

“Ah,” she was practically beaming. Crowley was at a loss for words. “Adam Young. This must be one special request if it warrants the Antichrist’s involvement.”

If Adam or any of his friends were surprised she knew his name, they did not show it. “Former Antichrist,” the boy supplied, looking up at her with a curious expression on his face. It was if he, like Crowley, knew this angel somehow and was just trying to remember how.

“Right,” the angel stuck out her hand for Adam to shake. “It’s a pleasure to meet you. I’m Remiel.”

Crowley’s entire system was so filled with shock that he almost missed what happened next. Remiel. THE Remiel? As in the Archangel of Hope, the one who brought all the righteous souls into Heaven? What in the world did she want with them?

“You aren’t angry at me for saving the world?”

The Archangel shook her head and Crowley almost passed out. What kind of world was he living in? Gabriel had been furious with Adam and told him just as much. The Archangels had tried to destroy Aziraphale for his hand in thwarting Armageddon. And now this one was saying she didn’t mind that the Great War hadn’t taken place?

“I’m rather fond of my job, to be honest. And I can’t really do it anymore if all the souls on Earth disappear. I suppose I should thank you all for what you did. Certainly made my life easier.”

She smiled, turning to look at all of them once more. Finally, her gaze fell on Crowley.

“Plus,” she added as an afterthought, “I’m not really that much of a Sound of Music fan. So you probably did me a favor.” 

He knew that joke was meant for him. What Crowley didn’t understand was why. Why was Remiel here? What did she want with him? 

“Can we get this meeting under way?” he asked, irritation seeping into his voice. All eyes turned to look at him. Crowley knew he was coming across as rude, but they had wasted enough time as it was. “I’ve got an angel to rescue, you know.”

Remiel nodded solemnly. Was that concern in her eyes? Guilt? Did she actually care about getting Aziraphale back to Earth safe and sound? It seemed like such an impossibility, but she was here, wasn’t she?

“I have one question for you first,” the Archangel began and the sudden intensity in her eyes was almost too much for Crowley to bear. In that moment, he couldn’t tell if the sudden feelings of anguish and loss rushing through him originated from Remiel or if she was bringing all of his own to the surface. Either way, the demon felt like his heart was breaking in two. He desperately tried to hold it together. “The demon, the one that was with Aziraphale. Where is he now?”

Crowley bristled. What did Remiel want with Dantalion? Did he dare to hope she was here to enact vengeance for what he had done to Aziraphale? His angel may not be on Heaven’s good side, but he was still an angel. There were still rules to be followed and Dantalion had definitely broken them. Was Remiel here to help him set things right?

“He’s in Hell, holding Aziraphale captive.”

Gravely, she bowed her head. The demon felt another stab at his heart. He wished there was some way for Aziraphale to hear his prayers. To know that Crowley was on his way. That Crowley hadn’t abandoned him and would never abandon him.

“I can get you into Hell,” she said finally, looking back up to meet Crowley’s anxious gaze. “But you’re going to have to sneak Aziraphale out on your own. I have business elsewhere.”

The demon nodded. He didn’t care. Hope billowed in his chest as he mentally prepared himself for what was coming next. 

“How are you going to get him in?” Newton asked after a moment. “Won’t the demons down there recognize you, Crowley?”

A grimace appeared on his face. Why did the man choose to make sense now? When Crowley was so close to having his angel safe and sound once more.

“They won’t recognize him if they don’t see him,” Remiel supplied, giving Crowley a knowing look. Unfortunately for him, he had no idea what she was implying. 

“You can make him invisible?” Pepper asked, sounding impressed. Crowley snorted. Remiel may be an Archangel, but she wasn’t a magician. She also wasn’t an idiot. What good would turning the demon invisible do? How would he turn back? How would he convince Aziraphale to come with him if the angel couldn’t see him? It may lend itself to getting him into Hell, but if Crowley couldn’t accomplish the entire task, what was the point?

Remiel’s smile took on an amused tone. “No. But I can transport a three foot long garden snake underneath my robes when I go and visit.”

She was serious. Crowley could tell just by the way she looked at him, that stupid, smug smile on her face. Remiel was enjoying this! She had agreed to help him get into Hell, but the Archangel had no problem enjoying his humiliation along the way.

“A snake?” Wensleydale asked, his confusion obvious. Crowley simply rolled his eyes. There was no time to explain it all now. He would have to leave the task to Newton or Anathema.

“Being the Serpent of Eden has its perks,” he responded, before shutting his eyes. Molecule by molecule, the demon felt his body begin to shift. Black scales erupted across his skin, bones melded together as limbs collapsed upon each other, growing outward from the piece of him that had become his tail. His teeth extended to a point and the demon could feel wind rushing by him as he shrunk down in size, coiling around himself until he was a twisted pile of flesh and scales, black and red in color, with a single pair of bright yellow eyes.

“I’ll get you in through the door,” Remiel explained as she moved toward Crowley. The Archangel towered over him now, but she had been intimidating before, despite her small stature. Gently, she knelt down, fixing her gaze on his as she extended a hand. “You’ll have to sneak away before I get to the main hall. I have a feeling that while most of the demons won’t notice you with me, Beelzebub might. Can you do that?”

Crowley nodded, his snake head bobbing up and down slowly, ensuring that she understood his response. 

“Right then, are you ready?” the Archangel asked, some hidden emotion shining in her deep brown eyes. Flicking his tongue hesitantly, Crowley slowly slithered his way around her outstretched arm, up the inside of her sleeve and down her back until he was settled comfortably around her stomach. Her skin was warm and with his eyes closed, the demon could imagine it was Aziraphale’s skin he was pressed up against, 

“Let’ssss do thissss,” Crowley hissed as Remiel took a few steps forward toward the location where he knew the door to Hell would be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was a little longer than I expected, so I've decided to do an interlude next focusing on Aziraphale. Stay tuned!
> 
> Comments are always appreciated <3 Thank you to everyone who is reading along so far!


	23. Interlude: The Dark Room

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale finds himself face to face with two demons.

The absolute worst part about being trapped in Hell was the furniture.

Aziraphale shifted in his seat, the cold metal seeping through his clothes onto his skin. It was firm and uncomfortable and smelled like mildew, which in the angel’s mind made absolutely no sense. How could a metal chair get moldy? Perhaps it was the room itself he was smelling. Impossible to tell, really, as he was currently blindfolded. 

Would there really be any harm in providing him a padded chair of some sort? Perhaps a lovely tartan patterned wingback. Plush, with plenty of back support, and warm too. They could still strap him to it, if they were worried about him trying to escape. Aziraphale wasn’t entirely sure, but he had a feeling that the ropes around his wrists weren’t actually doing anything to him other than ensuring that his wrists remained uncomfortably cold.

The angel hadn’t yet tried to escape. While the ropes may be ordinary, there was some strange sort of energy around him. Aziraphale couldn’t tell exactly where he was, but he assumed it to be a room of sorts. The overwhelming stench of sulfur meant he was undoubtedly in Hell. The overwhelming silence meant he was undoubtedly alone.

He’d been alone since he’d regained consciousness, the back of his head throbbing ever so slightly, as if he’d been hit. The angel didn’t remember being hit. He didn’t remember much of anything that had brought him here. There had been dinner with Anathema and Newt. After that, Crowley had driven him home. They had made plans for breakfast the next day. What time was it? How long had he been out? Had Crowley realized that he was missing yet? Was demon losing his mind with worry? Did Crowley know Aziraphael had been taken against his will or would he think the angel left without saying goodbye?

A tear made its way down Aziraphale’s cheek as he thought about his best friend waking up in the morning to find him gone. His heart ached to think that Crowley might believe Aziraphale had abandoned him. If there was no sign of a struggle, which the angel didn’t think there would be, how would Crowley ever know what happened? How would he ever find Aziraphale again?

Crowley meant more to the angel than anything else in the whole world, and he’d gone and moved too slow. He’d taken too long to tell his friend just how deep his feelings went and now it might be too late. There was no telling what Hell’s plans were for him here. There was every chance that they had finally figured out how demon and angel had gotten away from punishment last time. Aziraphale could be facing the final hours of his existence. 

The thought that Crowley might be in a similar situation in Heaven caused more tears to fall from the angel’s blue eyes. How was this fair? All they had done was try and save humanity from total obliteration, and even then, Adam and his friends had done most of the actual saving. Why were Heaven and Hell so intent on seeing the two of them suffer?

Technically, Aziraphale had no proof that Heaven had been involved in this. It could be Hell operating on their own, but if that was the case, why had they come after him? And why hadn’t anyone come to check on him yet? Were they waiting on something? Had Hell been tasked with his capture only to hand him back over to Heaven.

The suspense was killing him. Aziraphale prayed that wherever he was, Crowley was safe.

_ Please, please keep him safe. I love him. He doesn’t deserve to die, please. He has such a good heart. I can’t imagine a world without him in it. He’s my everything, please don’t let them hurt Crowley. _

With his eyesight temporarily out of commission, the angel’s other senses had been heightened. If he focused, Aziraphale could hear muffled voices coming from somewhere behind him. The tone rang through easily enough, though the consonants were difficult to pick out. It almost sounded like the owners of the two voices were down a hallway of some sort, on the other side of a door. 

Seconds passed and the angel could tell they were drawing closer. The voices were irritated - arguing with each other over something, although Aziraphale still couldn’t tell what. His heartbeat spiked as the distinct click of a door sounded nearby and the footsteps made their way into the room with him.

They stopped somewhere in front of him, off to Aziraphale’s left. The angel debated whether to turn and face them or pretend he hadn’t heard the pair. Ultimately, he chose to do nothing, staring ahead at the inside of his blindfold while he waited to see what would happen next.

“Aziraphale,” a familiar voice growled. The angel frowned, trying to place where he’d heard it before. “So nice of you to drop in.”

Aziraphale hadn’t interacted with that many demons before. Not many of them came to Earth, and the ones that did were usually only there a short period of time to talk to Crowley. In the silence that followed, the angel could only think of a handful he might have interacted with long enough to recognize their voice. All of which had been at Crowley’s trial, jeering at him as he’d been forced to bathe in Holy Water.

“You know,” the angel responded, trying to keep his voice light and happy. “I was in the neighborhood and thought I’d pop by. Six thousand years on Earth and I’d never once made the time to see what Hell was like. Rather silly of me, don’t you think? I’m supposed to help save the souls of humans, but it’s difficult to be effective when I don’t even know what I was saving them from.”

The demon closest to him hissed. Aziraphale wished he would speak again. The more he could figure out about his situation, the better chance he had of getting  _ out _ and back to Crowley. If he could get the pair of demons to talk, he might be able to deduce their identities. Any information was useful information at this point. 

“So far, it seems to only be an abundance of darkness and uncomfortable furniture. Any chance I could get a padded armchair? Like the one in my bookshop?”

Aziraphale knew he was antagonizing the demon. He was banking on it, hoping that the demon would be more likely to slip up the more frustrated he was. Something in this room was disrupting his miracles. The angel could feel the foul energy swirling around him, preventing him from transporting himself home. That had been the first thing he’d tried upon waking up. It didn’t take long for Aziraphale to realize he was stuck here unless he physically broke out on his own.

“You’d do well to mind your tongue,  _ angel _ ,” the demon spat and Aziraphale finally made the connection. “Things are about to get much worse for you.”

A shuffle of noise signaled that Hastur, Duke of Hell, was moving toward him. Aziraphale did his best not to flinch as a hand materialized on his chin, forcing it up toward the demon who was indisputably standing right in front of the angel now. The stench of his breath was fowl and hot against Aziraphale’s skin, his fingers clawing into flesh hard enough to cause a jolt of pain, but just light enough not to break the skin. Aziraphale burned where Hastur’s fingers touched him. He wanted to recoil, wanted to cry out, wanted to smite the creature where he stood, but he was powerless to move at all. 

Instead, the angel gritted his teeth and said nothing, made no indication he’d even heard Hastur as he spoke. Moments later, the other demon in the room cleared his throat and Hastur let go. Aziraphale breathed in deeply again, trying to quell his shaking nerves.

Interesting. That interaction wasn’t much to go off, especially since Aziraphale couldn’t see who the other demon was, but it could be some sort of clue. Not many demons had the ability to get another demon as high ranking as Hastur to listen to them. Who exactly was the angel dealing with here?

“Look at that,” the Duke taunted, glee evident in his voice. “The poor angel’s crying already. Probably missing his flash-bastard boyfriend.”

Aziraphale’s heart seized with panic. Did they know? They couldn’t know about his feelings for Crowley, could they? Up until Armageddon, he’d been so careful to hide them from everyone, even himself. And even after he and Crowley had joined their own side, neither one of them had made a move to be anything other than friends. Aziraphale had wanted to say something, but he had been too afraid - afraid that he might be wrong, that Crowley might not feel the same way. Afraid that Crowley  _ did  _ feel the same way but would grow bored of him after a while. Afraid that even now, Heaven and Hell were watching and waiting for the right moment, or the right reason, to strike and take the demon away from him forever.

What if they did know? Was that why they had taken him, because they thought the feelings were mutual? Had they taken him to lure Crowley back down to Hell so they could enact whatever plan they had for him? Aziraphale prayed it wasn’t true. He willed Crowley to stay away - stay far away. The thought of his demon trapped down here under the mercy of someone like Hastur sent fear into him the likes of which Aziraphale had never known.

“Don’t you worry,” Hastur continued. Aziraphale could almost picture the way his coal black eyes would be shining in the room’s dim flickering light. “We’ll be giving you something to cry about real soon.”

Footsteps sounded as Hastur made to come closer, then stopped abruptly as the second demon’s voice echoed around them, sending a chill of shock down Aziraphale’s spine.

“Not yet.” The voice belonged to Thomas, the human Aziraphale had considered a friend up until this moment. As that voice reached his ears, the angel realized his grand mistake. He realized that Crowley had been right all along. Thomas was a demon. Thomas didn’t love him. Thomas was  _ using _ him to get to Crowley and Aziraphale had walked right into the trap like an idiot.

_ Oh Crowley, I am so sorry. Please forgive me. _

“You said we were going to get to torture him,” Hastur hissed, his voice muffling a bit as Aziraphale assumed the demon turned his face toward Thomas. “I’m not about to sit around and wait for you to make up your mind how you want to go about doing it, Dantalion.”

“Hastur,” the demon whose name was apparently Dantalion spoke with more authority than before. “Aziraphale is mine, do you understand? It was my plan that brought him here. My wards that are keeping him here. You can have Crowley when he inevitably shows up to rescue his precious angel.”

Aziraphale’s blood went cold. No. Surely Crowley wouldn’t be that stupid. He had to know this was a trap meant to lure him in. He had to stay far away from all of this. No matter what they did to Aziraphale, his demon had to stay safe. Aziraphale would never forgive himself if something happened to Crowley because he’d been too blind to see the dangers right in front of him.

“What are you going to do with him?” he heard Hastur grunt, obviously put out over the whole situation. Silence followed for a while and Aziraphale tried blinking his eyes rapidly under the cover to try and shift it around. Maybe if he could get it to fall down, if the angel could just  _ see _ Thomas - Dantalion, whatever his name was, maybe he could convince the demon to let him go. 

Aziraphale’s memories were a bit fuzzy as he thought back on his time with the demon in disguise. He’d  _ thought _ there had been something between them. Now the angel understood it to be some kind of fabrication. A lie that Dantalion had woven to somehow get Aziraphale to care about him.

Even now, bound to a chair, trapped in Hell, the sound of the demon’s voice also filled Aziraphale with inexplicable joy. He was despicable. Crowley deserved so much more.

“I haven’t quite made up my mind.” Dantalion’s voice was soft, but each syllable carried with it a promise of something terrible to come. “I’ll decide when I get back. Bellzebub said they needed to see me for something. It sounded urgent. Make sure he doesn’t try anything funny while I’m gone.”

“My pleasure.”

Dantalion’s footsteps disappeared out the door and Aziraphale was left alone in his prison with Hastur, a demon of terrible reputation that had a well known grudge against Crowley. He blamed the serpent for Ligur’s destruction, which if Aziraphale thought about it, was a fair assessment. From what he understood, Crowley had only been trying to protect himself from the pair. He had used the Holy Water against them to keep them from dragging him back to Hell.

Slowly, the demon approached him, his breath heavy, an intention to his movements that caused the angel’s stomach to churn unpleasantly. He turned his head, following the sound of Hastur’s footsteps, trying to pinpoint his adversary’s exact location without the use of his eyes.

“Tell me one thing, Aziraphale,” Hastur asked as he traced a cold, clammy hand over the angel’s shoulders, causing Aziraphale to shiver against his will. The footsteps shifted from Aziraphale’s left side to his right as the Duke made his way slowly around the metal chair, stalking his prey like a cat stalks a mouse. “How exactly did Crowley get his hands on that Holy Water that destroyed Ligur? You wouldn’t happen to know, would you?”

“I gave it to him.” The answer was direct, without hesitation. There was no point in lying to this demon unless doing so would protect Crowley. Here, by telling Hastur that Aziraphale had been the one who provided the weapon that had destroyed his companion, he was effectively pulling blame from Crowley onto himself. He was doing whatever he could to keep his beloved safe.

The blow came out of nowhere, connecting with the side of his face and knocking Aziraphale to the ground. He groaned as the other cheek scraped up against the hard stone floor, but the angel did not cry out. He would not give Hastur the satisfaction.

Dagger-like nails dug into his scalp as the Duke grabbed a fistful of the angel’s hair and dragged him upward, metal chair scraping loudly against the floor. Aziraphale pulled against the bonds, but though they seemed to be made from regular rope, the wards Dantalion had placed around him prevented him from miracling them away. All he succeeded in doing was rubbing the rope against his exposed skin even more, the rough strands tearing into it bit by bit.

Once again, the putrid smell of the demon’s breath was hot against his skin. Hastur’s hand was still entangled in Aziraphale’s hair and he tugged on it roughly, causing tears to prick at the edge of the angel’s eyes. Both his cheeks stung with pain and he imagined the one that had hit the ground was bleeding. He knew it wouldn’t work, but the angel still tried to miracle the wound away, hoping that they’d only thought to ward against his offensive abilities. 

When the pain remained, Aziraphale knew things were about to get much, much worse for him.

“No one tells me what I can and cannot have,” Hastur growled as his fist made contact with Aziraphale’s gut, pushing the air roughly from his lungs. “Not Beelzebub, not Dagon, and certainly not the likes of  _ Dantalion _ .”

The angel groaned, feeling a bruise developing already. He was much too soft for this. Aziraphale wondered how long it would take him to pass out and what would happen if Hastur accidentally discorporated him. Would rematerializing in Heaven be any safer a situation for him? The angel had no idea.

Pain sparked at his skull as Hastur once again grabbed a fistful of his hair and forced Aziraphale to look up. In an instant, the blindfold was removed and the angel found himself staring into a pair of glistening black eyes and a sallow looking face that was brimming with eager satisfaction and a twisted sort of glee.

“Let’s have a bit of fun, shall we?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh boy, it's starting now...let's hope Crowley can get to Aziraphale in time and that he has a plan by the time he does...


	24. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley pulls out all the stops to save his angel.

Riding down to Hell wrapped beneath the robe of an angel was not the way Crowley had wanted to spend his Saturday morning. It wasn’t even the way he had  _ intended  _ to spend it. The demon had wanted to sleep in until the sun hit its zenith before popping over to Aziraphale’s shop for a late lunch somewhere they’d never been before. He’d  _ intended _ to spend it having breakfast with the angel, far earlier than anyone had the right to be awake, in an attempt to rescue Aziraphale from the demon who had wormed its way into his angel’s heart.

Obviously, neither of those things had happened. 

Crowley’s scales prickled everywhere he touched the Archangel’s skin. It didn’t hurt, exactly, but it wasn’t comfortable either. The sensation kept him on edge, like his heart was about to leap out of his chest and run away from him. His stomach roiled and if he had hands, Crowley was certain his palms would be sweating with nerves.

These were all very ‘human’ sensations, which in serpent form he should most definitely not be feeling. The serpent glanced upward, flicking his tongue against the soft skin of the Archangel’s back. He couldn’t really see much in this form, not in the way he did as a humanoid figure. Everything was a wash of blueish black, as her body temperature had shifted to match that of Hell the moment they crossed the threshold, effectively blinding the serpent who relied on heat to see.

Luckily for him, Crowley didn’t need to see the Archangel’s form to taste her guilt and her fear. What did Remiel have to be afraid of? What was going on here? Why was she helping him save an angel who, by her accounts, was a traitor to all of Heaven? 

And most importantly, why did he feel waves of longing rolling off her like ocean water crashing against the rocky shore?

The demon was willing to admit some of the other sensations he’d felt might have gotten mixed up in translation. It had been a while since he’d practiced sensing emotions. As a demon, he could only get a sense of the more negative ones: fear, guilt, shame. The ones that would assist him in pulling off a temptation. After a while, delving into people’s deepest, darkest secrets had gotten tiresome. Crowley had eventually given it up.

But this.  _ This  _ feeling Crowley knew better than he knew himself. This longing was so achingly familiar that he knew he had not mistaken it. He’d felt this every goddamn day of his entire life. Every single day for six thousand years. It would be impossible for him not to recognize the taste of it on anyone else, even when that someone else was an Archangel.

Twisting his way up her torso, looping around an arm onto a shoulder and up her neck, Crowley settled into the space behind Remiel’s ear, making sure his head was hidden completely beneath the black curtain of her hair.

“Why are you helping me?” he hissed, so quietly that Crowley knew not even the angel walking beside her could hear him.

Remiel did not give any indication she had heard him. She did not turn her head, did not chastise him for revealing himself, did not force him back down. Based on the bobbin motion of her body, they were still descending the stairs down into the main hallway. Crowley probably had another few minutes before the angels ran into any other demons besides himself.

_ I’m not. _ Crowley supposed he should have been surprised that the voice had sounded in his mind, not in the air around him, but he wasn’t. Remiel was an Archangel. She could probably do a lot more than speak telepathically with other beings.  _ Not really. I had business down here anyway, and I have no stake in whether Aziraphale gets out of here or not. If you want to risk your freedom to try and regain his, that’s on you. _

If a snake could have narrowed his eyes, Crowley would have in that moment. There was something Remiel wasn’t telling him. Judging by the emotions currently churning beneath her skin, there was  _ a lot _ the Archangel wasn’t telling him.

The question Crowley had to answer now was: should he try and figure out what? He had a good deal going on here. Remiel sneaking him into Hell and then promptly providing a distraction while the demon searched for his angel? He would be a fool to do anything to mess that up. Technically speaking, Remiel wasn’t causing a distraction in order for him to rescue Aziraphale, but her presence here would be enough to do just that. Once the population of Hell realized an Archangel had come for a little chat, every demon in existence would be trying to crowd their way into the main hall to get a look. 

This may be the only circumstances where Crowley alone could save his angel. Remiel may claim she wasn’t helping him, but they both knew that wasn’t close to the truth. She was handing him the keys and depositing him beside the lock. All Crowley had to do was unlock the door.

_ Sssshould I ssssay thank you? _ Even in his mind, the demon found his speech was hissing against his will. Snakes couldn’t grimace on the outside, but the demon was certainly doing so within his own mind. 

Memory flashed in his mind’s eye. An angel and a demon sitting in the dark shadows provided by the Bentley, a tartan patterned thermos hovering between their fingertips. Crowley remembered every moment of that night. The way Aziraphale’s hands had trembled as he’d pulled the thermos from his coat pocket. The way his eyes had shone with unshed tears as he pleaded with the demon not to use the gift he’d given. 

The longing in his eyes as he’d walked away, leaving Crowley all alone.

_ You go too fast for me, Crowley _ . 

The angel’s words had hurt back then, just as they hurt him now. Things had improved significantly between the two of them since that night, especially since Armageddon had been thwarted, but Crowley still found himself longing for Aziraphale every day. If they got out of this alive, he swore he’d finally tell the angel how he felt. Crowley had already lost Aziraphale once as a bookshop had burned to the ground. He’d almost lost him twice as the end of the world was upon them. He’d nearly lost him a third time as Heaven and Hell had enacted their retribution. 

It didn’t take a genius to realize he’d already been blessed with more chances than he deserved. Crowley couldn’t afford to squander any more. 

_ I wouldn’t _ , Remiel responded. He could hear the complete focus in her voice as they continued to trek down the stairs.  _ You’ll owe me a favor for this, Crowley. And I intend to collect, in time. _

He should have expected this. Of course Remiel would consider this a favor, even as she claimed she “wasn’t helping him”. The demon figured he could argue with her over it, but decided against it. Crowley wasn’t a fan of being indebted to an Archangel, but he supposed out of all of them, Remiel was the best one to make that sort of deal with. She was his favorite after all. Always had been.

How he knew that, Crowley had no idea.

_ This is your stop, Crowley. _ He felt a soft presence atop his head as Remiel reached up to brush his black scales. The Archangel’s motion shifted. They were still moving forward, but the bobbing had stopped, indicating they had reached the bottom of the stairs. This is where they would part.

He quickly tucked himself back beneath her robe, slipping down her waist to her leg and down to the floor, relying on the pull of gravity and the smooth skin beneath him rather than his sight, which was of no use at the moment.

Just before he broke contact, the demon paused, tip of his tail still wrapped around her ankle.

_ Ciao. _

Crowley could almost hear her sly grin as he slithered away into the darkness.

Now came the difficult part. How was he going to find Aziraphale in this maze of darkly lit hallways without getting caught? It would take a little while before word spread that Remiel had arrived. Until then, the demon had to stick to the shadows. He couldn’t afford being spotted now. Not when he was so close.

Crowley shrunk down on himself, becoming around a third of his original size. The smaller he was, the less chance anyone would notice him. Opening his mouth, the serpent began to taste the air, looking for any signs of his angel. Crowley knew that down here, there was a chance he wouldn’t be able to detect Aziraphale’s presence at all. He’d only ever tried to use his senses like this on Earth before. There was no way to know if the change in location would affect his ability to locate his angel. Only one way to find out.

There was something, faint, barely a flicker of a candle as opposed to the lighthouse beacon he was used to, but Crowley sensed it. He set off down the hall, tiny snake heart beating more rapidly than it should have been able to. Three times he passed demons as they hurried by him in the opposite direction, chattering excitedly to themselves about archangels and swords and all other manner of nonsense that Crowley didn’t have time for. Not a single one of them paid him any mind.

After what felt like an eternity, the serpent rounded a corner and found himself in a deserted hallway. He tasted the air. The aura was still faint, almost as if it were being blocked somehow, but it was still there. Several doors lined the walls on either side of him. Checking once more, Crowley shifted back into his humanoid form, amber eyes blinking rapidly to adjust to the dim flickering lights.

One by one, Crowley checked the doors. He peered in through the tiny windows up top, listened for any sound of voices or an angel crying out in pain, but each one was empty except for the soft flicker of blue-white light. There was no sign that Aziraphale was or ever had been here.

Crowley’s heart began to grow heavier with each step. He felt tears pricking at the edge of his eyes, but he forced them back. This was not the time to despair. He was going to find Aziraphale and nothing in Heaven or Hell was going to stop him from getting his angel home. 

A click sounded ahead of him and the demon froze, eyes wide. One of the doors about three dozen feet down the hall creaked open. Shuffling footsteps sounded a moment later and Crowley knew he was screwed.

_ Shit. Shitshitshit.  _ What could he do? Turn back into a snake? It was already too late for that. The demon would certainly see the shift occurring as soon as he cleared the doorway, He would know exactly who Crowley was. His best bet was to play it cool. Keep walking forward. Pretend that he belonged here. Hope it was some lower level demon who may know him by name but wasn’t as familiar with his face. 

The shuffle sounded again and Crowley saw a flash of white as the light from a nearby lamp reflected off the pristine feathers of an angel’s wing.

Aziraphale stumbled out of the room, bracing his hand against the far wall. His jacket was gone, white dress shirt stained with red and ripped in several places. He had bruises and scrapes on his face, blood smearing along his brow up into his halo of blonde curls. Dirt and grime clung to his pants and vest, indicating all the places he had been kicked or shoved forcefully into the ground. The angel shuffled along with a limp, dragging his right leg behind him as he tried to put as much distance between himself and the room he’d left behind.

Behind him, Aziraphale’s wings were fully extended. From here, the demon could see how the left wing dragged along the floor, twisted in a way that angel wings were not meant to go. There was no blood, but he knew from experience that the absence of blood did not mean there was an absence of pain.

Crowley was running toward his angel before he even realized what was happening. At the sound, Aziraphale looked up, startled, his eyes blown wide. A split second later, the shock was replaced with relief and joy as Crowley flung his arms around the angel and drew him close to his chest.

“Crowley,” Aziraphale’s voice broke with emotion as his arms moved to wrap themselves around the demon’s waist. “You’re here.”

The tears that Crowley had been fighting to hold back for so long finally broke through his defenses. He was too late. He’d thought he’d had more time and Aziraphale had paid the price for it. How long had his angel been here suffering through the pain that was meant for him? 

Slowly, so he didn’t startle or injure Aziraphale further, Crowley pulled back and lifted his fingers to lightly trace the bruise on his angel’s cheek. The lights flickered around them, casting shadows over Aziraphale’s face, but the demon could still see the tears swimming in his angel’s eyes. He’d been through so much and it was all Crowley’s fault. He should have figured it out sooner. Should have whisked Aziraphale away when he had the chance. Should have told the angel how much he loved him.

“I’m so sorry it took me so long,” Crowley sobbed, letting the tears fall. In the back of his mind, he knew he had to get Aziraphale out of here, and quickly, before someone happened upon them. 

Aziraphale raised a hand of his own to cradle Crowley’s, pressing the demon’s palm against his cheek. His stomach roiled with guilt and rage as he spotted the very obvious rope burns on his angel’s wrists, indicating the places where they’d tied him down.

“That doesn’t matter now, my dear,” Aziraphale soothed and Crowley’s heart soared. He hadn’t realized until that moment how afraid he’d been that he would never hear that endearment from Aziraphale’s lips again. “You’re here now. Always my hero.”

A bright smile made its way onto the angel’s face as he looked up at Crowley like the demon had hung the stars. Tears fell from his eyes, streaming down the bruised and broken cheeks, catching themselves on the tips of Crowley’s fingers still resting against the angel’s soft skin.

If this had been at any other time in any other place, Crowley would have forgone all verbal declarations of his millenia held secret and just kissed Aziraphale. It took all of his willpower not to do just that as they stood in the middle of the dimly lit hall, arms wrapped around each other in a gentle embrace. This was all the demon had ever wanted. Almost. It wouldn't do well to forget the  _ one  _ tiny issue with what would have been considered a romantic moment otherwise.

“We need to get you out of here,” Crowley breathed, closing his eyes for a moment. He needed to think of  _ something _ to get them out of here. Simply walking back up the stairs wouldn’t do. They would surely be spotted. The demon was sure that even if the entirety of Heaven had showed up for a meeting, there would still be guards at every entrance. Demons didn’t trust and would never leave the gates to Hell unguarded, even for the end of the world.

“Can you walk?” Crowley asked. “Fly?”

The angel’s face fell. “Barely. I - I’ll try my best, Crowley.”

The demon gritted his teeth. He could carry Aziraphale if he needed, but it would slow him down. He wouldn’t be able to dodge around any demon that happened to get in their way. Crowley’s flight instinct was much stronger

“How did you escape?” the demon asked gently, glancing over to the open door behind them. Aziraphale stepped to the side to let him see, lowering both their arms away from his face, but intertwining their fingers on the way down. Crowley nearly discorporated with shock and joy.

_ Aziraphale was holding his hand. _

Quickly, he pulled himself together and glanced around the room. It was empty apart from an uncomfortable looking metal chair, two loops of rope dangling from the arms, and a white haired demon in a trenchcoat passed out on the floor.

“Hastur slipped up. I was able to distract him long enough to get my hands free. Once the playing field was a bit more level, knocking him out wasn’t hard.”

Crowley’s eyes widened. “ _ You  _ knocked him out?” He had a hard time imagining his gentle angel punching anyone hard enough to leave a mark, let alone knock them out cold.

Instead of the gentle laugh that he’d been expecting Aziraphale to make, the angel simply looked sad. “I was a Principality once.”

The demon frowned. He knew Aziraphale had been issued a sword at the beginning, that he’d been trained to fight in the final war between Heaven and Hell, but Crowley had never realized his angel had it in him to hurt anyone, even if they were a demon. Aziraphale certainly could have struck Crowley down on that wall six thousand years ago, but he hadn’t. Crowley always assumed it was because Aziraphale didn’t have the capacity to harm anyone. Perhaps that wasn’t true. Perhaps Crowley had been special.

“I’m sure you’ll think of something, to get us out.” Aziraphale’s soft voice brought the demon out of his musings. Right. He still had a job to do. A vitally important one.

_ Think of something. _ Of course. That was it. That was the answer.

He could do it, Crowley knew he could, but he had to time things exactly right. If he faltered even a little bit, all would be lost.

“Alright,” he murmured, pulling Aziraphale closer to him once more. It wouldn’t do for them to be overheard now. “I’ve got a plan. It will work, but I need you to do whatever I say, alright angel?”

Asiraphale nodded, eyes wide, tears still drying on his cheeks. “Of course, my dear. I trust you with everything.”

Those words made Crowley’s heart swell with love. It made sense that the angel would feel this way. Crowley suspected that he did a while ago, but this was the first time Aziraphale was admitting to the fact out loud. The sound brought tears to the demon’s eyes once more.

As quickly as he could, Crowley led them down the deserted hallway, peering around each time they came to a corner. Word must have spread by now that Remiel was here. If they were lucky, they wouldn’t encounter anyone else until they made it to the front gate.

Crowley’s entire plan hinged on the fact that now that he was in Hell, the gate would let him back out again. He didn’t see how it wouldn’t, and even if it somehow didn’t open for him, hopefully it would for Aziraphale. How terrible would it be if they got this far and got stuck just on the other side of the door leading to Earth? The demon didn’t even want to think about it. 

“Where is everyone?” Aziraphale whispered under his breath as they made yet another turn. Crowley glanced around, triple checking that no one was around. He knew they wouldn’t be, but the demon made sure, all the same. 

“Good ol’ Beelzebub has some visitors of a celestial nature,” Crowley murmured back, his arm wrapped firmly around Aziraphale’s waist, supporting some of the angel’s weight as he limped along. Rage began to boil under Crowley’s skin, but he pushed it aside. There would be time for thoughts of vengeance later. For now, his top priority had to be getting Aziraphale home. 

He stopped them when they reached the last turn. Just as he suspected, two bulking demons with two sets of wings each stood guarding the gate. They had sharp horns sticking out from their foreheads and spines along their arms and probably their backs too. Talons gripped steely swords and the dim light glinted off their fangs, making the pair look almost predatory in nature.

Crowley imagined that was exactly what they were. Who better to place at the gate to guard anyone from entering or exiting?

Holding up a finger, he signaled Aziraphale to be silent. Then, giving his angel’s hand a gentle squeeze, Crowley let go and stepped out into the hallway.

The two saw him immediately, their shining red eyes fixating on him as they simultaneously took a step forward. No one was supposed to be here, not now when all the demons in Hell were gathering together to try and catch a glimpse of the Archangel in their midst. Crowley’s presence was a dead give-away. Even if the guards didn’t know exactly who he was, they knew he wasn’t supposed to be here. So they charged.

They charged and Crowley’s entire body filled with adrenaline. Exactly what he needed it to do. In the blink of an eye, the demon pulled all that energy from within his body and cast it outward in a wave around him. The advancing demons stopped, frozen in a moment of time that Crowley desperately wanted to be as far away from as possible.

He took a step back, placing one hand on Aziraphale’s back and the other behind his knees. Before the angel could release a startled yell, Crowley’s wings were out and he was soaring through the air, above the frozen demons’ heads and up the long, winding staircase, Aziraphale clinging to his neck as they rose one agonizing foot after the next.

There was no way to tell how long Crowley could maintain this level of concentration. He could feel time straining against him already, angry that it had been forced to pause when it had such a nice rhythm going. Normally, the demon found such a task a little uncomfortable, but manageable. As strung out as he was emotionally, mixed with the physical exertion of flying both himself and Aziraphale out of Hell, it was a wonder he’d been able to stop time at all.

Crowley flew with all his might, faster and faster, not even bothering to waste energy on breathing or blinking or anything else a human would need to worry about. His only concern was holding time back long enough to get his angel to safety. He would not rest until Aziraphale was back on Earth.

Finally, after what felt like yet another eternity, they reached the gate. He saw it, hovering in the air above them, shining an iridescent silver, the surface swirling around like water in a calm spring breeze.

With one final push, Crowley burst through the gate, emerging into the Lobby, a flurry of black feathers and burning amber eyes only to find himself face to face with six wide-eyed humans.

“What are you idiots still doing here?” the demon shouted as he skidded to a stop, black wings stretching wide on either side of him. Aziraphale’s limp body slipped from his arms and they both tumbled to the floor.

Anathema was by his side in an instant, moving to roll Crowley over onto his back as the demon fought to catch his breath. His whole body was trembling with exertion and at the edge of his consciousness, the demon felt time take back its metronome beat.

They had to get out of here. Now. Before all of Hell came swarming out through that door.

“Get back kids,” Crowley heard Newton commanding. There was a shuffle of small feet as the children did what they were asked, for once. He imagined seeing Crowley bursting out of the floor with burning snakelike eyes and night-black wings would have been startling. Not to mention the state Aziraphale was currently in. “Give them some space.”

“You alright, angel?” the demon huffed as he made to stand, groaning with the effort of even something as simple as that. He’d pushed his body to the limit already. But there was one more favor Crowley had to ask of it.

A soft chuckle sounded beside his ear. The sound of it warmed Crowley’s entire body and gave him the strength he needed to gather them all together once more. “Tickety-boo, my dear. Everything is Tickety-boo.”

Without another word, the humans gathered close to Crowley and Aziraphale, hands grabbing onto whatever part of him they could find. The demon closed his eyes, one arm wrapped around Aziraphale, both wings wrapped around the humans that had come to help him, and with a single snap of his fingers, they were gone. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh boy, was this a fun chapter to write. I'd love to hear what you guys think about how everything went down.
> 
> Up next, Crowley and Aziraphale will have a moment to themselves to recover from it all and talk about some things that should really have been talked about by now. Stay tuned! I'm projecting the next update will be sometime tomorrow (I have D&D this afternoon, so not as much time for writing).


	25. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley brings Aziraphale to safety and the two have a heart to heart.

“Crowley,” came Anathema’s voice as spots broke out across the demon’s vision. His knees began to buckle and Crowley lurched forward, tightening his grip around Aziraphale’s waist. A pair of strong hands gripped his shoulders, steadying him as the demon breathed deeply and tried to get the room to stop spinning. “Where did you bring us?”

The demon blinked, trying to clear his vision. The group had ended up in what appeared to be some sort of cozy, rustic living room. There was a grey stone fireplace up against one wall with a wide mantle. Rich hardwood floors ran throughout most of the room, turning to grey marbled tile at the doorway to the kitchen. Windows lined most of the back wall, looking out into a large grassy area enclosed by a white picket fence and some waist high shrubbery that was currently changing from the typical green to a vibrant crimson red.

“We’re at my house,” the demon announced, pulling his wings away from the rest of the group before gently tucking them away. Aziraphale’s were still out, the left one hanging limply at the angel’s side. Crowley would have to tend to that first as soon as he found the angel a place to rest. “A cottage. In the South Downs.”

They were all present and accounted for. One angel, one demon, two adult-sized humans, and four children. How Crowley had managed to bring them all here without injuring anyone or misplacing one of the smaller humans was a wonder to behold.

“You own a place in the South Downs?” Anathema seemed surprised, but not disbelieving as she stepped further away to survey the room. There was no furniture. The previous owners had moved out months ago. Crowley had come down here the previous week, looking for something to do while Aziraphale had been decidedly not talking to him. This area was quiet, the opposite of the busy London streets they were both so used to. He’d felt so calm just walking along the shoreline that Crowley had decided to come back someday and show his angel.

Apparently that day was today.

Crowley shrugged. “I do now.” He snapped his fingers and instantly the room was filled with furnishing. A couch appeared along the wall opposite the fireplace, smacking Newton in the back of his legs, causing him to stumble forward a bit. The four children immediately fell backwards onto it, the one with the glasses grabbing for a pillow to hug closely to his chest.

By the windows, Crowley placed a table and chairs – big enough to seat all eight of them if the need arose. Some paintings materialized on the walls, mostly depicting a variety of snakes. He glanced down at Aziraphale who smiled through weary eyes. They could talk about redecorating at a later time. If that was something the angel wanted to talk about.

Oh, how Crowley hoped it was.

“First thing’s first,” the demon said, taking charge. He snapped his free hand again and a box materialized into Newton’s hands. Once again, the man stumbled, but managed to regain his footing, brown eyes looking up to stare at Crowley in wonder.

“What are these for?” he asked, glancing down at the crate of metal horseshoes Crowley had given him. The demon suppressed an overwhelming urge to roll his eyes.

“If you’ll recall,” he started, speaking slowly and trying to ignore the way his arm was burning with the effort of holding his angel upright. He needed to get Aziraphale upstairs to the bedroom quickly, but not before he made sure they were all as safe as they could possibly be. “Those happen to be a pretty decent deterrent for any demon that tries to enter this house.”

Silence fell over the group as all eyes turned to look at the demon standing before them. Crowley turned to look at the children first, impressed that they did not flinch under his serpentine gaze. At some point during all the chaos, he’d lost his sunglasses. It was impossible to remember where, not that it mattered much. He could always miracle himself up another pair later.

“Crowley, my dear,” Aziraphale breathed, leaning into the demon’s shoulder. Whether the action was for a physical need or an emotional one, Crowley didn’t know. “Putting those up isn’t safe for you. You’ll be trapped in here. You could get hurt.”

Slowly, he shook his head, looking softly down onto his angel’s battered and bruised face. “I won’t be going anywhere for a while, angel. Not until you’re taken care of.”

Aziraphale smiled sweetly at him and Crowley’s heart thudded in his chest. He was shocked no one else could hear it, the traitor was beating loudly enough. What he wouldn’t give to see his angel smile at him like that every day for the rest of time.

“Right,” the demon said, turning back to the two adults in the room. “Newton, you’ve got your job. There’s a hammer outside on the front porch. Anathema,” he turned toward the witch and with a quick movement of his hand, a car key dangled from her fingers.

“What am I supposed to do with this?” the woman asked. Her tone was more confrontational than it was confused and Crowley’s stomach twisted uncomfortably. He barely had the energy to remain standing, let alone argue with a stubborn witch.

Crowley glanced over at the children. They were seated side by side, Adam and Pepper in the middle, the two remaining boys on either side, glancing up at him with wide eyes. All in all, they looked more exhausted than anything else. He didn’t detect any fear washing off them, and for that Crowley was grateful. The last thing he wanted to do was be the reason any child was traumatized.

“As far as anyone down there knows,” he sighed, closing his eyes to try and regain even a fraction of his usual strength. Transporting multiple people, transforming, stopping time – today had been an exhausting day and it wasn’t even lunchtime yet. Crowley didn’t know how much more of this he could take. “These four are not involved. I’d like to keep it that way.”

Finally, she nodded. Pepper and Adam opened their mouths like they were about to protest, but a sharp look from both Crowley and Anathema seemed to shut them down pretty quickly. The other boys, Crowley still couldn’t remember their names, just looked like they were about to fall asleep.

“Alright,” Anathema agreed, her brown eyes drifting from Crowley’s face, down to the children, and back. “But I’m coming right back. Newton and I aren’t going to leave the two of you alone to face this. I’ll stop by Jasmine Cottage and get some supplies and help Newton with the perimeter when I get back.”

She waved her hand and the children leapt off the couch to follow. Crowley watched as one by one they filed past him, heading toward the front door and the vintage black car that was waiting for them outside. To his surprise, the last boy, the one who was always just a little bit dirty, stopped in front of Crowley and wrapped his arms around the demon’s torso.

“Stay safe, Mr. Crowley,” the boy murmured and Crowley felt a strange sensation tugging at his heart. He patted the boy’s tangled brown hair gently before ushering him off to join his friends. Looking down, Crowley saw Aziraphale gazing up at him with an amused smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. The demon huffed softly, but secretly felt warmth radiating through his entire body, turning his insides to jelly.

Once all the humans had made their way out the front door, Crowley began to help his angel up the stairs to the bedroom. It was slow going, to say the least. The staircase was narrow, which normally wouldn’t have been an issue, but Aziraphale’s wings were still out and there was no way for the angel to tuck them away until the broken one had been set right again.

Crowley could have offered to try and heal Aziraphale’s wing, but he was afraid to do further damage. Demon miracles weren’t exactly designed to heal holy beings. Such an act defeated the purpose and Crowley didn’t know if any attempt to heal the angel would actually work. He hoped it would, and was more than willing to try if Aziraphale allowed it, but the demon was afraid that his angel would be on his own to recover from what had been done to him.

“Thank you, Crowley,” Aziraphale murmured as they reached the top step. “You didn’t have to do this, you know.”

The demon scoffed, stomach starting to flutter as they approached the side of the bed. This was it. He was going to tell Aziraphale how he felt. He was also probably going to pass out or throw up first. Or both. But Crowley was going to get over himself and tell the blessed angel how much he loved him.

“Don’t be an idiot,” the demon mumbled as he slowly lowered Aziraphale down onto the bed. He’d miracled up the most comfortable one he could think of, with tartan patterned flannel sheets and a pillow top comforter that was the color of a summer’s sky. They didn’t really match, but they reminded Crowley of Aziraphale, so that was what had appeared in the bedroom when he’d brought all the furniture in earlier.

They were silent for a while as Aziraphale settled in, moving his wing gently with his hands so that it was draped gently on the pillow beside him. Crowley had a sudden urge to crawl onto the queen sized bed next to his angel and curl up against his soft side, but the demon refrained. The cuts and bruises on his angel’s body glared at him, bright and red, chastising the demon for not getting there sooner. Demanding that he do something _now _to fix the damage that was so obviously his fault.

“Do you –“ Crowley started, not sure how to go about asking Aziraphale what he wanted to ask. “Do you want me to try and, you know?”

The angel looked over at him, the pain evident on his face. He looked more tired in that moment than Crowley had ever seen him before. It was almost as if all the color had been drained from his face, apart from the angry red marks that taunted Crowley, reminding the demon of his latest failure. How he’d been too late to save the thing he loved most.

“If you could help out with the wing,” Aziraphale started, glancing down sadly at the white feathered appendage, “I think I could probably manage the rest.”

“Right,” Crowley muttered, his amber eyes gazing down at the plumage. His hand hovered above his leg, hesitantly moving forward, unsure what to do. Unsure what his angel wanted from him. Did Aziraphale want Crowley to touch him? Was that kind of contact welcome – wanted? Or would he rather the demon keep his distance? They’d touched before, but never when performing miracles. The last thing Crowley wanted to do was hurt his angel, but if he did nothing, Aziraphale would still be in pain. He had to try.

“It’s alright, Crowley,” the angel said softly, reaching for his hand. The demon’s heartbeat spiked as Aziraphale’s soft hand closed over his, dragging it to meet the soft pearly feathers. “You can touch me.”

Slowly, the demon closed his eyes, forcing himself to be calm. He took a deep breath that his body didn’t need but his soul craved all the same and focused all the energy he had left on Aziraphale. He thought about Armageddon and how strong those wings had looked as the pair had met with Adam outside of time. He remembered standing on the wall and the graceful beauty that had protected him during that first rainfall.

Crowley channeled all of those memories and feelings into his fingertips, feeling the energy inside him start to flow into the angel beside him. Aziraphale gave a low grunt of pain and Crowley almost pulled back, but something stopped him. He could feel the healing start to take place. In his mind’s eye, the demon could see bone fragments piecing themselves back together, tendons reattaching, feathers aligning themselves in the proper place once more.

It was over as soon as it started. Crowley looked back over at his angel, breathing a sigh of relief. It had worked. Aziraphale was going to be alright!

“Can I get you anything else?” Crowley asked quickly, hovering at the edge of Aziraphale’s bed as the angel flexed his wing back and forth. Satisfied with its condition, the angel drew them both in, sighing deeply as they disappeared from sight. “I could miracle up a glass of water. Or maybe a new set of clothes for you. Ones that don’t have so much blood on them, maybe?”

Aziraphale looked down perplexed, like he had no idea how his favorite suit had gotten itself into this state. Crowley half expected his angel to start fussing, now that the immediate danger was over and he could take stock of what he’d just been through, but Aziraphale did no such thing. Instead, he simply turned to Crowley, saying “I suppose I’ll have to throw these old rags out and find some new ones, won’t I.”

The angel chuckled softly, eyes shining in the dim light filtering in through the curtains. “A set of nice, comfortable tartan patterned pajamas would be quite splendid right about now.”

Crowley grinned, snapping his fingers before the angel could move a hand to do anything for himself. Instantly, Aziraphale’s clothes were replaced with a pair of button up fleece pajamas the same pattern as the bow tie he usually wore. The angel hugged his arms against his chest, beaming. Crowley was instantly reminded of a certain paintball stained overcoat and the accompanying smile he’d been given after miracling away the stain. Warmth blossomed in his chest as he gazed over at the angel lying before him, smile as bright as the sun.

The demon took a deep breath. It was now or never, he supposed.

“Listen, Aziraphale,” he began, miracling up a chair for him to sit himself down in. The moment Crowley’s legs brushed up against the legs of the chair, he collapse into it, thankful he’d thought to make it a padded seat. The demon was more exhausted now than when he’d helped to stop Armageddon. All he wanted to do was curl up on the bed next to his angel and sleep for a month, but there was something more important he had to do first.

“I wanted to talk to you about something.” Crowley paused and looked at his angel’s face. Aziraphale was calm and much less pale than before, his eyes unwavering as he gazed over at Crowley. As each second ticked by, the cuts on the angel’s face began to miracle themselves closed and the demon felt his anxieties slowly melting away. How could he ever worry about anything with Aziraphale smiling over at him like that? “I originally meant to do this at breakfast, but then, well, you know...” he trailed off lamely.

The angel folded his hands neatly over the plush comforter, giving Crowley his undivided attention. “Angel,” Crowley started again, feeling like his heart was about to leap out of his throat. Heat radiated from his face and neck and ears and the demon just knew he’d turned all sorts of embarrassing shades of red as he struggled with the words to say. “You and I have been friends for thousands of years, and after everything that’s happened – “ He swallowed, mouth suddenly extremely dry. “Well, I just wanted – I needed you to know that – “

Crowley broke off again, cursing himself. Why was this so difficult? He thought about this dozens of times every day. It was three blasted words. How hard was that? How hard was it to say ‘I love you’ to someone? He _knew_ Aziraphale cared for him. It was so obvious! So what was Crowley so afraid of.

The demon squeezed his eyes shut, taking a deep breath and rushing ahead before his insecurities could stop him once more.

“Angel, I love you!”

Amber eyes flew open once more as he finished the proclamation and studied the angel’s face. Aziraphale’s smile had faded slightly and he was looking over at Crowley, eyes clouded in confusion.

“You love me?” He didn’t sound upset, but Crowley doubted the reaction was one of excitement either. It almost sounded like the angel hadn’t understood what he’d heard.

“Yes,” Crowley rushed to explain, wanting to make sure there was no question in Aziraphale’s mind. No way for the angel to misinterpret what he meant. “Aziraphale, you’re my very best friend. You know that. And I love you. I’ve been in love with you for ages and after everything that’s happened recently, I just need you to know how I feel.”

Tears pricked at his eyes as the panic started rising. Why was Aziraphale looking at him like that? With those sad, confused eyes. This wasn’t right. The angel was supposed to tell Crowley he loved him back. He did, didn’t he? Aziraphale had never said as much, but surely the angel cared for him deeply. What else could that be besides love?

“You don’t have to say you love me back,” the demon amended after a heartbeat of silence passed between them. “I just couldn’t hide it any longer. Not when we’re on our own side.” He took in a deep, shaky breath. “Not when I almost lost you again.”

The demon let his gaze fall to the bedspread, suddenly finding the needlework design amazingly interesting. The only thread they’d used was clear, but it was still able to form the shape of the comforter in such a way that created intricate diamonds and spiral visuals for the user to observe. Amazing, really, the sorts of artistic things humans could come up with.

“Crowley.”

Aziraphale’s soft, yet firm tone caused the demon’s gaze to snap back up. The sight that met him caused the demon’s stomach to drop to the floor.

The angel was looking at him with _pity_.

Oh no. No, this couldn’t be happening. Crowley had been _so sure_ that Aziraphale felt the same. Maybe the angel hadn’t felt comfortable saying it before, with Heaven and Hell always looming over them, but surely he still _felt_ it. What about saving the world together? What about being on their own side? Holding hands on the bus? Risking their lives for each other? What about dining at the Ritz and all the lunches and dinners and breakfasts since then?

“I’m afraid you may be mistaken, my dear.” Aziraphale’s voice was gentle, but his words stabbed like daggers into Crowley’s heart. The demon felt himself give an involuntary gasp as he struggled to comprehend what the other being was saying.

“I’m not _mistaken_ about how I feel toward you, Aziraphale,” Crowley argued back, sitting upright on the edge of his seat. “I’ve had six thousand bloody years to figure it all out.”

He didn’t mean to snap at the angel, but Crowley couldn’t help it. He was reeling. Just this morning, the demon found out everything he cared about had been snatched away from him in the middle of the night. He’d risked everything to save Aziraphale and now the angel was about to tell him he didn’t feel the same way.

Crowley’s heart was breaking. He wasn’t sure how he would ever manage to piece it back together again.

“My dear,” the angel started off just as gently, hands folded neatly in his lap. How could Aziraphale feel so calmly about this? How could he be so cruel? “You are a demon. You can’t feel love.”

_What?_ Crowley was speechless. Why was Aziraphale still spouting that Heavenly propaganda? The angel had rejected them, broken away from them, chosen _Crowley’s side_! He had to know that what he’d just said wasn’t true. Of course Crowley knew how to feel love. He’d been feeling it for six thousand blasted years. Ever since the idiotic angel in front of him revealed he’d given away his flaming sword.

“You know bloody well that isn’t true!” Crowley hissed back. “Aziraphale, I love you so much, I don’t even know how to describe it.” That much may be true, but he was sure as Satan going to try. Crowley would say whatever he needed to say – do whatever he needed to do – to get it into Aziraphale’s thick skull just how much the angel meant to him.

“You are my favorite person in the whole entire world,” he declared, never breaking eye contact with the creature before him. “Every day with you brings even more joy into my life. I want to spend every second by your side, because a moment with you is infinitely more precious than any moment we are apart. I flew into _Hell_ for you, Aziraphale, against every warning of self-preservation I had. Why would I do that if I didn’t love you? Why would I do any of the things I do if not for you?”

“If you love me,” the angel protested after a moment of silence. “Why can’t I feel it? I’m a creature built of love. I feel it around me everywhere, and yet you are a stain of darkness when everywhere else I look is light. I’m supposed to be able to feel love, Crowley. And I don’t from you.”

Hearing Aziraphale call him a ‘stain of darkness’ hurt more than Crowley had ever imagined it could. He knew that wasn’t how the angel really felt about him. They were best friends, after all. Aziraphale had just used the imagery to illustrate his point. He didn’t really mean it. He couldn’t, could he?

“Maybe your sensor is broken,” the demon argued back, desperately trying to fight back his tears. When had he become this pathetic? Why couldn’t he hold himself together? So what if Aziraphale didn’t love him romantically. They were still friends. That was alright. His heart may hurt now, but he’d get over it. He’d gotten over all the hurtful things the angel had said before. It would take time, but Crowley knew he’d be able to get things back to normal between them eventually.

“Maybe you can’t sense it from me because I’m a demon, did you ever think of that?”

“That only proves to further my point,” the angel argued logically. His eyes were flat, corners of his mouth taut, brow furrowed slightly. “Whatever you’re feeling it isn’t love. I would feel it if it was. But you’re a demon and just aren’t capable of it.”

Crowley was furious. He wanted to stalk out of the room – out of the whole bloody house – and never come back. Unfortunately for him, Newton was damn good at his job. The whole time they’d been talking, a soft thudding noise could be heard from below. There was a good chance Crowley was already trapped inside the house, or would only be able to get out by crawling out a window. He could always miracle himself out, at least, until Anathema showed up to add her magic wards to their defenses. But the thought of running away now without fully understanding where Aziraphale was coming from with these outrageous remarks made his heart ache.

“What about you?” the demon shot back. “You’re a bloody angel, right? You love _everything_. You have to! That means you have no choice but to love me back!”

Aziraphale’s face filled with more pity, if that was even possible, and Crowley stopped breathing altogether.

The next words that entered the space between them were sure to haunt Crowley for the rest of his life.

“I am designed to love all of Her creation,” the angel agreed, face devoid of any telling emotion. “You no longer belong to her. I have no reason to love you.”

Fresh tears pooled over as Crowley’s heart, which for thousands of years had been cradled protectively in his angel’s hands, ripped clean in two. He stood up abruptly, the chair beneath him angrily scraping against the hardwood floor. The demon could feel his stomach churning within him and he was almost certain he was about to throw up or discorporate or both. Either way it wasn’t going to be pretty and Crowley found that he needed to be as far away from Aziraphale as possible.

As his feet shifted to take him out the door, something stopped Crowley. He was reminded of all the tender moments they’d shared over the millennia. Sharing oysters together in Rome, comforting each other during the terrible sickness that ravaged the world during the 14th century, watching Hamlet together in the back of the Globe Theater, eating crepes after he’d rescued Aziraphale, the opening day of the angel’s bookshop, rescuing Aziraphale from Nazi spies and the wonderful evening they’d had afterward. Working together, side by side, to raise the Antichrist for almost a dozen years. Switching places to help the other avoid total oblivion.

Aziraphale loved him. Crowley _knew _that fact to be true. He didn’t know what this was – some aftereffect of the torture, residual manipulation from Dantalion’s hold on him. Whatever it was, the demon was not about to let anything keep him and Aziraphale apart any longer.

He took a step forward. The angel didn’t say a word as Crowley approached, placing one hand on either side of his face before leaning down to brush his lips against Aziraphale’s.

Crowley had imagined kissing his angel a million different times in a million different ways. The fantasies had always filled him with a sense of warmth, starting in his chest and sending waves of tingling electricity outward to his furthest extremities. It was always wonderful in his imagination, but the demon had always known that if he were every lucky enough to have this fantasy come true, it would be so much better than he ever imagined it could be.

There was no warmth. No spark of electricity. No rush of warmth or pulse of desire. As his lips pressed down gently against Aziraphale’s, the demon felt absolutely nothing.

He pulled back immediately, looking down into a pair of faded blue eyes. The demon blinked. Not blue. Grey. Storm grey eyes, staring back up at him, almost as if they were waiting expectantly for something to happen.

All of a sudden, Crowley realized he had made a terrible, awful, unforgivable mistake. He took a step back, bringing his hand up to his mouth to wipe away the horrifying act, his heart ripping in two for a second time as the demon realized all that he had done.

“You’re not Aziraphale.”

The being in front of him smiled, his cold grey eyes glistening in the sunlight. Before Crowley could jumpstart his mind once more, the creature raised his hand, thumb and forefinger pressed together firmly, a glint of anger flashing in his eyes.

“Sorry to disappoint.”

A single snap and the world went dark.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...I am so sorry guys. I promise, their happy ending is coming. They just have to deal with a few more minor problems before they get there...
> 
> Some of you were a bit suspicious of me last chapter, so props to you guys. Hang on, because things are about to get interesting. Up next, we're going to check in on Heaven and Hell to see what they've been up to.
> 
> See you tomorrow! (Probably)


	26. Interlude: The Lobby

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Angels and Demons meet up to discuss the final plan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, so I wanted to clarify something about the last chapter based on some of the comments I saw yesterday so that there was no confusion going into today. Crowley and Dantalion weren't completely trapped in that house yet. I mentioned that Newton was busy putting up the horseshoes around the house, but he hadn't quite finished yet. The way they work in my brain is that they cause a barrier across any one entrance into a home. In order to completely trap Crowley inside, Newton would have to cover every door and window (which he was working on, but hadn't finished yet). That is why, toward the end of the chapter, when Crowley feels like storming out, it says he ' would only be able to get out by crawling out a window'. 
> 
> The story then goes on to mention 'He could always miracle himself out, at least, until Anathema showed up to add her magic wards to their defenses.' Basically, what I meant to show with that statement was that the horseshoes would create that physical barrier for any demon wanting to go in and out, but they didn't do anything to prevent miracles on their own. The plan was for Anathema to come back and add some extra magic to accomplish this, but Dantalion revealed himself before that could happen. So, yes, he did successfully disappear with Crowley, as you will soon see.
> 
> Sorry for any confusion that might have caused! Hopefully this helps to clear things up.

Seven of them went up to meet with the Archangels. Beelzebub had toyed with the idea of only bringing six, like they knew Gabriel would, but decided against it. The fact that Azrael would not be joining them was hardly their fault and the angels had a sword on their side which, if it did what the rumors said, was worth at least one Duke of Hell, if not more.

The Demon Prince looked around as they approached the bottom of the staircase, swiftly counting heads before they made their way up. To their surprise, standing behind them and to the left, a few paces away from Dagon, was a dark skinned, masculine looking demon with piercing grey eyes.

“Nizze of you to show up on time, Dantalion,” Beelzebub remarked, a hint of a smirk on their face. They watched with satisfaction as the other demon forced a smile, skin lightening to a shade more caramel in color. 

“Rumor has it that we’re going to get to see a magic sword in action.”Dantalion’s voice was unnaturally upbeat - mockingly so. “I’d hate to miss the show.” Beelzebub would have been irritated if their anticipation wasn’t currently outweighing every other thought in their mind. At first, when Michael had suggested this plan, Beelzebub had been dubious. Even now, they weren’t so sure this was going to work. 

Worst case scenario, the pair were discorporated and stuck in their respective head offices. Beelzebub didn’t know what Gabriel’s plans were if Aziraphale ever made an appearance back in the Silver City, but if Crowley ever appeared back in Hell, they would probably shove him in a room several floors down and promptly forget about the demon. It was too much of a risk, letting a demon immune to Holy Water run around the place, and giving him another body involved so much paperwork, the demon didn’t want to even begin considering it.

Best case scenario, this plan worked and Beelzebub would only have to worry about the renegade demon once every fifty to one hundred years. And, as an added bonus, each time they saw the demon, they would get to torture him all over again. Or better yet, Crowley would simply be destroyed and that particular trail of paperwork would burn up for good.

Serves the bastard right for getting in the way of The Great War. He really should have known better.

Once all seven demons were on the stairs, Beelzebub reached out a hand and snapped their fingers. The floor below them began to glow bright orange and slide upward, like an escalator fueled by molten lava. The platform lurched forward, then steadied itself at a comfortable pace, rising up toward the surface with enough speed to blow the Demon Prince’s black hair in a wild array around their face.

All at once, their ride came to a sudden halt. Without stopping to fix their appearance, Beelzebub stepped up the last step and up onto the reflective tiled surface of The Lobby. The other six demons flooded out behind them, taking up their positions on either side of their leader. Dagon on Beelzebub’s right, Dantalion on their left. Hastur and Marchosias took the remaining spots on the right hand side while Mammon and Asmodeus took the left. All seven demons stood at attention, their eyes fixed on the escalator in front of them, leading up into Heaven.

Beelzebub hated this room. It was supposed to serve as some sort of neutral ground between the two realms, but it was always set a bit too brightly for the Demon Prince’s taste. Even though the humans could not see the building from the outside street, those who were inside could see out through the glass windows lining the front wall. Perhaps if they’d met at night or during a thunderstorm, the Lobby would have seemed a bit more neutral, but it was a bright and sunny day outside. Beelzebub winced whenever their eye drifted over in that direction, catching sight of the bright light surrounding them on all sides.

The only one who didn’t express any discomfort was Dantalion. 

Something strange was going on with that demon. The last time Beelzebub had seen him, Hastur had made some off-hand comment that Dantalion had been missing for some time. When The Demon Prince had checked into it, they’d found the information to be correct. Dantalion had, in fact, been messing around up on Earth without the proper authorization.

Beelzebub had almost called the Duke back, but they were grateful they’d decided against it. Not only had Dantalion managed to retrieve the angel and drag him down to Hell, he’d also managed to capture Crowley. Because of his dubious actions, the demons now had the upper hand. They controlled both prisoners, which meant the likelihood of Gabriel actively working to negotiate fair terms with them over this grand event was much higher.

They still had no idea how Dantalion had pulled it off, but The Demon Prince wasn’t about to question success. Not when it put them in such a sweet spot dealing with Gabriel and his entourage.

“Trust the Archangels to be late to their own meeting,” they heard Dagon mutter beside them. Beelzebub smirked. They wondered what petty thing the creatures were arguing about this time. Of course, there was no proof that was the reason for the delay, but they liked to think it was. The thought amused them.

Silence fell between the group as they waited for the Archangels to arrive. There was no clock in this location, but Beelzebub didn’t need one to know Gabriel was running more than just a few minutes late. The Demon Prince was very much aware there was every possibility that the Archangel was doing this on purpose, but they didn’t care. Every second up here was one less second going over paperwork back in their office. They could stay up here all day, should the need arise.

“Finally,” Hastur growled from the end of the arc of demons as polished shoes and the hemline of suit trousers appeared at the edge of their vision. The Archangels rode the escalator down in a single file line, Gabriel at the front, followed by his three stooges. Beelzebub had dealt with them on a number of occasions before. The two on the end were new to them.

They were surprised to find that Uriel was the one holding the sword. It lay horizontally in her arms, blade wrapped in a fine white cloth with only the hilt visible. Beelzebub had been betting that Michael would be the one to safeguard the weapon. Based on Hastur’s report, the Archangel hadn’t let anyone else get remotely close to it when they’d gone to retrieve the weapon. Was there any significance to the decision to allow Uriel to wield the weapon? Did Beelzebub care enough to find out?

The answer to that last part was an obvious and resounding ‘no’. They would much rather simply proceed to the torturing and the punishing, now that everyone was present and accounted for.

“Nizze to see you could all make it,” Beelzebub announced as Gabriel moved to stand opposite him, Michael and Uriel on either side. The demon did not miss the look of annoyance that passed over Sandalphon’s face as he took up his position to Michael’s left, directly in front of Hastur.

The remaining two Archangels were unfamiliar to Beelzebub. They knew the beings by name. It would be impossible to forget Remiel and Barachiel, but the demon had never worked with them before. Based off first impressions, the duo didn’t come across as all that impressive. Barachiel was tall, with caramel skin and a serious look on his face only accentuated by his dark, neatly trimmed beard. He looked like someone who could be intimidating, except that would involve being interested in what was going on around him. Barachiel appeared to be mildly irritated, if that, to be making his way down here.

Beelzebub would have been tempted to say that the last Archangel, Remiel, was also not likely going to be a problem. She was short and thin in frame, similar in stature to Beelzebub themselves. Which was exactly why The Demon Prince kept their eye on her. If she was anything like they were, Remiel was not one to be underestimated.

“Well,” Beelzebub continued, allowing the smirk to enter their voice as they glanced down at the empty space beside Sandalphon. “Almozzt all of you.”

Gabriel just smiled his unamused smile. “I passed along the invitation. We should probably go ahead and get started. No point in delaying any further for someone who isn’t going to show up.”

Beelzebub’s eyes narrowed. They didn’t particularly like the way Gabriel had taken charge of the meeting, like _he _had been the one that had been stuck in this place waiting. Their eyes shifted down the line, examining each of the Archangels in turn. Sandalphon and Michael both had their attention fixed on Gabriel, hanging on to his every word. Uriel stood firm, with her eyes looking straight ahead, no doubt seeing past them and focusing on a point on the wall behind them. Her hands still lay palms up, balancing the sword out in front of her.

Their eyes hesitated at the end of the line, just for a moment. While Michael and Sandalphon were engaged in what Gabriel was saying and Uriel and Barachiel were obviously listening, even if they weren’t looking at the Archangel, Remiel was doing nothing of the sort. She was doing exactly the same thing as Beelzebub – examining each demon that had made an appearance for this meeting – only with more focus. Like she was actively looking for something.

What in all that was Holy or otherwise could be more important than this discussion, right here? Granted, Beelzebub wasn’t listening to Gabriel drone on and on either, but they were familiar enough with the Archangel to realize he was probably making some grand statement about treachery and righteous punishment and the like. It was nothing Beelzebub hadn’t heard before.

Remiel’s eyes drifted from one face to the next until it rested on Dantalion’s. Beelzebub watched as she paused, a frown forming on her face. They could only imagine why. Even after six thousand years with the other demon, Beelzebub found his constant shifting unnerving. One minute, they could be looking at a tall, feminine, blonde haired woman, turn away, and the next time they looked back, Dantalion would be a short, balding man with a scraggly beard.

There seemed to be no discernable pattern to the transformations – nothing that linked one face to the next. It was an ability that only Dantalion had, as far as Beelzebub knew, and The Demon Prince had no idea where it had come from, nor did they care. As far as they were concerned, as long as the shape changing didn’t cause anymore paperwork or get Dantalion into trouble, the demon could do as he pleased. From their basic understanding of the situation, the skill had actually aided in capturing both Crowley and Aziraphale. Why stop and mess with success?

For some reason, this Archangel seemed very interested in watching as Dantalion’s face slowly shifted from that of a Middle Eastern man to one of a more Nordic descent. Beelzebub could imagine how fascinating it might be for someone to watch the change taking place – how the demon’s skin shifted color slowly from one shade to the next, how each individual hair lengthened, changing from black to blonde with each second that ticked by. For someone who had never seen it before, the experience was certainly unnerving and captivating.

Beelzebub, on the other hand, had spent six thousand years observing the phenomenon. They were, quite honestly, tired of it.

“… and we’ll need to put up wards of some kind,” Gabriel was musing when Beelzebub turned their attention back to the Archangel. “They’re tricky bastards, the both of them. Don’t want to give them any chances to slip away. I don’t much care who does it – one from each side should do the trick. We can get started right now, if you’d like. I don’t see much reason to wait.”

Beelzebub blinked, looking up at Gabriel’s violet eyes. “You want to do it here?” Seemed like an interesting choice. There wasn’t really all that much special about this room, other than its neutrality. It wasn’t nearly big enough to host the entirety of Heaven _and _Hell, although the demon was not convinced most of the ethereal population would want to witness a spectacle such as the one that was about to happen. They would much rather invite the Archangels down into Hell to get the job done. Less chance of any funny business if they didn’t have to transport the traitors up here.

Still, Beelzebub could understand how that wouldn’t be advantageous for the angels. They supposed they should be considerate and concede to using this uninteresting location to enact what was likely to be the most devious revenge plot Heaven or Hell had ever seen.

Gabriel’s face fell. “Were you listening to a word I just said?”

The demon shook their head. “Not really,” then, in the next breath, announced “Dantalion can help set the wardzzz.”

A smirk appeared on The Demon Prince’s face as they felt the Duke beside them turn around in shock.

“Why me?” Dantalion questioned, clearly upset by the claim that he would do anything to lend a hand to anyone. “You’ve got five other perfectly good stooges to do your bidding, and yet you pick me?”

Beelzebub turned and grinned at the demon. “According to Hazztur, you’ve spent the past six monthzzz dilly-dallying up here on Earth. I think it’zzz high time you took a moment to help out.”

Dantalion’s grey eyes narrowed. “Are you serious? The whole point of all of that was for me to get you your renegades. I was working!”

They knew this, of course, but Beelzebub enjoyed tormenting their subordinates on occasion, and as lazy as Dantalion was, he took his job seriously when it was of interest to him and recognized when he’d done a good job. “It sure took you long enough.”

Pearly white teeth bared in their direction. “So sue me for stopping to have a bit of fun.” Beelzebub held up a hand, signaling the conversation was over and Dantalion fell silent. It was nice to know they still had command when they needed to use it. The Demon Prince smiled.

“Riiight,” Gabriel continued after pausing long enough to ensure the silence was awkward. “Well then, I suppose Michael can – “

“I’ll do it,” Remiel interrupted, her eyes still fixed on Dantalion’s face. When no one responded, she tore her gaze away and fixed it firmly on Gabriel, not a single sign of proper subordination. “As if I would trust Michael to get it right on the first time.”

Beelzebub held back a snicker as Gabriel rolled his eyes. “Fine. I don’t care who does it, so long as the wards get set properly. Aziraphale is not getting away from his punishment again, understood?”

Most of the angels present nodded their heads. Beelzebub noticed that Remiel did not. Technically speaking, although he acted like he was in charge, the Archangels worked as an equal unit. No one had to listen to Gabriel, they just tended to because it was easier. Apparently, Remiel had ideas of her own that she wasn’t afraid to voice.

“So it izzz dezzided,” Beelzebub proclaimed, just in case any of them hadn’t been paying attention. “Dantalion and Remiel will set the wardzzzz to make sure our prizzonerzzz won’t be able to ezzcape. Onzzze they are done, we will get thizz party started.”

“We’d like to make a small change to the plan, if you don’t mind,” Gabriel interrupted. The Demon Prince raised their eyebrows.

“Oh?” they asked, trying to appear as unsurprised as possible. Leave it to Gabriel to pull a bait and switch at the last minute.

The Archangel smiled, actually smiled – although it was definitely more amused than joyful. A sort of darkened amusement that the demon could identify with all too well.

“We’d like to switch the order. Have Aziraphale be the first one to have _the procedure_ affect him.”

Beelzebub blinked. Gabriel was acting like this was some big reveal – like it should matter to the Demon Prince which one of the two traitors got to be the guinea pig for this experiment. As long as they both ended up temporarily mortal and memoryless, they didn’t give two shits which one went first.

“Fine by me,” the demon waved a hand, signaling to all but Dantalion that they were free to go about their day. Once the real trial started, everyone would be called back together again to act as witnesses. No need for them all to wait around while Dantalion and Remiel put the wards in place. “But you’re cleaning up if there’z any mezz.”

Gabriel looked a bit put out that Beelzebub didn’t seem to care enough to ask any further questions. They momentarily thought about humoring the angel. It was fun to sometimes pretend to be interested in what he had to say, only to walk away halfway through an explanation or continue to ask stupid question that displayed just how much they hadn’t been paying attention.

In addition to their total lack of interest, Beelzebub also knew this wasn’t the time. There was a trial about to take place – the biggest trial they’d ever held – and there was no way the demon was going to let it commence until they’d nailed down the perfect speech.

Crowley was going to regret the day he ever thought he could mess with the Great Plan.

* * *

The atmosphere in Heaven was tense, to say the least. 

At Remiel’s request, Amariel had returned to the Silver City, helping to keep things running while the Archangels were away taking care of business. There wasn’t really all that much for him to do – Remiel ran a tight ship, but she trusted her subordinates to do their jobs right. The other angels seemed to stick to their given task without any prompting or prodding from him, so Amariel found himself wandering absentmindedly around the room instead, catching glimpses of polite conversation or the brief flash of a moment on the screen of a particular human one of the angels was currently observing.

On the surface, everything appeared fine. All the angels were stationed at their desks, flipping through images of the humans they had been tasked with watching over. There was a dull murmur of conversation that Amariel encouraged as he walked by. Yes, they had all been here since the beginning, which was plenty of time to learn each others’ names and become familiar with each other, but there were over a million of them in charge of keeping an eye on the souls of humanity. It was surprisingly easy to feel lost in a room with so many people. Amariel wanted to make sure that each angel was content, so he encouraged them to talk to their neighbors, to share stories of the humans they watched over, in the hopes that the angels would grow closer together with each other.

While some conversations carried on like normal, there were a surprising number that had grown hushed, eyes darting warily around, frowns where there should be smiles. Amariel knew what these angels were discussing and the thought made his stomach churn in the most unpleasant way. Word had gotten around that Aziraphale, the Principality that had been stationed on Earth, had been captured by Hell and was being sentenced to an eternal, mortal existence.

Apparently, not every angel was on board with the whole plan. By this point, everyone in Heaven knew what Aziraphale had done. They knew about the botched Apocalypse, the showdown at the airbase. They knew he was somehow immune to Holy Fire, but also probably not a threat to them in Heaven. The Principality just wanted to live his life on Earth in peace, and a surprising number of angels, at least in this department, didn’t seem to have an issue with that idea.

Amariel slowed to a stop when he came by a trio of angels that were gathered around a single image. The one at the controls looked up and smiled bashfully at him, her bright green eyes peeking up out from underneath soft brown bangs. The angel smiled back and focused his attention on the image, trying to make sense of what he was seeing.

A woman was standing in the middle of a small living room, in front of a stone fireplace. She was dressed in a high-necked blue dress that was horribly behind today’s fashion standards. Her long brown hair was tied back in a braid down her back and the brown eyes she normally framed with a pair of thick rimmed glasses were free of them and currently filled to the brim with tears.

The angel recognized this woman, although he had hardly ever seen her face before.

“Newton Pulsifer?” he guessed, reasoning he would likely be the only person Anathema Device would allow near her during such an emotional breakdown. Anathema was one of his own charges. She was an interesting human, much more perceptive than most and receptive. Not many humans paid enough attention to the sensation they liked to call their ‘gut’ to do anything useful with it. Anathema lived by it. Amariel had lost count of the times he’d given her a little nudge in a certain direction and she’d taken the hint and run with it.

“Yes,” the angel seated at the desk murmured softly, her brown eyes never leaving the image projecting in front of her. The other two angels seated on either side of her, one male in appearance, the other neither or either or both, leaned in, their attention completely captivated by the witch pacing back and forth before them.

“Are they fighting?” That didn’t sound like Newton and Anathema. In the six months since they’d met, the couple had barely raised their voices at each other. Amariel would be shocked to hear the man had done anything to make his girlfriend cry like this.

The brown haired angel shook her head slowly, the worry obvious in her eyes. “They found out that Crowley and Aziraphale are missing. She’s worried sick about them.”

Amariel frowned, that familiar uncomfortable feeling returning to his stomach. All three of the angels surrounding him shared a look. They were obviously just as upset about this whole situation as the two humans they were watching. Imagine how much more distraught the pair would have been if they knew the truth about the fate that was to befall their friends.

“Is there anything we can do to help?” The male presenting angel asked – Amariel thought his name was Zaraiafel, but he could have been mistaken.

All three of them looked to Amariel. He felt his throat tighten unexpectedly. What was he supposed to say? If the Archangels had decided to dole out punishment, he couldn’t very well tell these angels that everything was going to be alright. He couldn’t, in good conscious, give the humans false hope that their friends would be safe.

But how could he just stand by when an act as terrible as this felt so wrong? This was Heaven, they were supposed to be the good guys. What happened to forgiveness and mercy? How did they fit into this story?

“We shouldn’t intervene,” an angel sitting nearby pointed out, their face grim but eyes unconvincing. The anxious shake of their knee under the desk told Amariel all he needed to know. “If the Archangels have decided their fate, we need to abide by it.”

_What if the Archangels are wrong?_ The question echoed around the room like a siren, although no one asked it out loud. All of the conversation in the room had stopped and Amariel could feel every set of eyes on him. They were all waiting for an answer to the question they could not ask.

Questions were dangerous. Questions lead to doubt which lead to fear and resentment which lead to a Fall. They all knew what happened the last time angels went around asking questions. They weren’t built for it. They were built for love and compassion, for forgiveness. For mercy. Stick to what you know. Don’t ask questions. Don’t wonder about the nature of the world as it was. Just do what you’re told. Spread love. Teach them how to forgive. Guide them toward the path that will lead them to Heaven.

Amariel’s mind drifted to thoughts of Remiel. Was she really on board with this whole plan? Did she want Aziraphale to suffer for his role in stopping Armageddon, or was she in favor of showing the Principality forgiveness? Did she believe Aziraphale’s wings should be taken from him? Or did she wish the sword would disappear into some corner of the world and never be used against any of them – angel or demon – ever again.

Thinking back to a conversation they had shared before they made the trek down to Hell – a conversation Amariel had sworn never to repeat to anyone - the angel thought he had a pretty good idea what she wanted him to do.

He asked none of these questions darting around in his mind out loud. Doing so would not be very angelic of him. Instead, Amariel turned toward the angels that had unanimously decided that in the absence of any Archangel, he was the ultimate authority figure whom they would follow, no questions asked.

“Someone let me borrow their controls,” he suggested, gently. The angel who had originally protested immediately got to his feet. There was a collective pause in the room as Amariel moved over and sat down, pulling up the image of the woman who just might be his favorite human on the entire planet – not that angels were allowed to have favorites.

“I think I’ve got an idea.”

All throughout the observation room in Heaven, there was a collective sigh of relief.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not loving how this chapter turned out, but it has some important setup for what's coming, so I wanted to get it out there. The next chapter will check back in on Aziraphale, so hopefully that will be more fun to write and I can get it out to you guys sooner. I will be aiming for another update tonight, but there is a good chance it won't come until tomorrow.
> 
> I'd like to give a huuuuge shoutout to everyone who left a comment yesterday. You all are wonderful and I love you and I am so happy you are here on this journey with me. I love writing for you all and I can't wait for you to see what I have in store.
> 
> See you all soon!


	27. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale sits in Hell, waiting to see what will become of him. Dantalion comes for a visit.

Aziraphale was alone, locked away in the small dark room. He had been alone for a very long time.

At least someone had thought to show some manners and provide him with a few nice things, while he was being forced to wait in this prison. A single shelf of books, a nice reading lamp and a blanket to cozy up with if he was feeling a bit chilly.

The armchair had been an absolutely divine addition. It was almost an exact replica of the one he had currently sitting in his bookshop. Aziraphale would have claimed it was the exact same one, but when he’d lifted up the cushion to look underneath, there had been a saddening lack of a red wine stain. 

It had happened sometime back in the early nineties, before all that nonsense with the Antichrist had begun. Crowley had come over for a nightcap like he was often to do and the two had gotten to talking about something or another. To this day, Aziraphale couldn’t remember what they’d been talking about. What he _did_ remember was getting up to fetch them another bottle and returning to find the demon looking at him very suspiciously. Crowley refused to relent when questioned, so Aziraphale had dropped the subject.

He found the stain when Crowley left that night. Aziraphale didn’t know if his friend had been so drunk he’d forgotten that he could miracle it away or if he’d simply just panicked and hastily tried to cover his mistake. Either way, the stain was there. The angel could have made it disappear himself, at any time, but for some reason he kept it. Sometimes, when he was feeling extra blue, he would take a peek, just to remind himself of the ridiculous look Crowley’s face had worn when Aziraphale had asked what dastardly deed he’d been up to that night.

Aziraphale sighed. He missed Crowley. Oh, how the angel missed his demon, so very much.

Where was Crowley now? What was he thinking now that Aziraphale had been gone for so long? Was he sick with worry? The demon had figured out Thomas’ true nature a while ago, so he had to suspect Aziraphale was being kept in Hell. Was Crowley going to attempt to rescue him? Had he already tried and failed? Did Hell have his demon locked up somewhere too? 

Whatever the future had in store for him, the angel hoped and wished and prayed that one way or another, Crowley would be safe. 

The door opened and Aziraphale looked up, placing his bookmark in between the pages and setting the copy down on the circular desk beside him. The angel knew who his visitor was before the demon took a single step inside the room. He was the only one to visit Aziraphale now – the only one since that first time had ended so poorly.

“Have you come to let me out now?”

Aziraphale asked the demon this each and every time he came to visit. And each and every time, Dantalion refused to answer him. The angel was met with silence as the door closed once more and Dantalion walked across the room and sat down in a second armchair he had materialized for himself, barely sinking down into the pillowy cushions. He sat on the edge of the seat, elbows resting on his knees, hands folded in front of him with a white knuckled grip, staring over at Aziraphale with stormy grey eyes.

Something was different this time. Something had changed. Dantalion had never exactly been excited or joyful when visiting Aziraphale before, but he’d never looked this concerned before. The demon’s face was contorted in such a way that the angel was almost certain he was in some sort of pain.

As much as he hated himself for it, Aziraphale felt a twinge of concern.

“Are you alright?” he asked softly, biting back the familiar and endearing ‘my dear’ that so often accompanied his statements. Aziraphale knew he should hate this creature sitting before him. This demon that had ripped him away from the one being he cared about most in the entire world. Somehow, despite all logic, the angel still cared. His heart still twinged with sadness when he looked across at Dantalion’s agonizing expression, still displaying the likeness of the human Aziraphale had grown so fond of. 

“You look like you’re in pain,” the angel pressed again when Dantalion’s only response was to look away from him, hiding his grey eyes underneath a hanging head.

“It’s nothing,” the demon mumbled, his voice hoarse. “Just a lot going on. Makes it hard to concentrate.”

Aziraphale frowned. “Concentrate? On what?”

Dantalion lifted his head and met Aziraphale’s gaze once more. “This,” he said, gesturing with his hands at his entire body. “All of this – or rather, keeping all of this the way that it is now.” He paused, frowning as he leaned back into the chair. “Keeping my true form hidden down here is a lot more difficult than it is on Earth.”

A rather vivid image appeared in Aziraphale’s mind of bright, golden snake-like eyes and the pair of sunglasses that always seemed to be around to hide them. The angel had never seen Crowley down here in Hell. He didn’t know if what Dantalion said was true, but it didn’t seem too farfetched that being in Hell would bring their most demon-like qualities into the forefront.

“Are you keeping your true form hidden for my sake?” Aziraphale asked curiously. He was surprised and instantly curious. Why would Dantalion go through all the effort of concealing himself if it caused him discomfort? What would be the point now that the ruse was up? He had no more reason to hide who he was, so why would he even try?

“You don’t have to,” the angel continued, shifting forward in his seat slightly. The pair were close to each other, but not close enough to touch. Dantalion was still sitting back in his chair, looking over at Aziraphale with an unreadable expression on his face. “Believe me, my dear. I’ve stared down the end of the world and come out alright on the other end. You don’t have to worry about scaring me off.”

“It’s not like I have anywhere else I could go.” He chuckled softly at the thought. Aziraphale couldn’t explain it, but here with just the two of them, he felt no fear. Oh, the angel was worried, mostly about Crowley, but he didn’t believe Dantalion would lift a finger to harm him. Not after the way he’d handled Hastur the last time Aziraphale had seen the ashen haired demon.

Dantalion had been livid. When he’d returned from his meeting with Beelzebub to find Hastur with a knife about to cut into Aziraphale’s body, he had practically gone feral. Within a second, the demon had Hastur up against the wall and in one fluid motion had slammed his head up against the stone and Hastur had been out cold.

He’d been so certain Dantalion would continue on to destroy the other demon, but Aziraphale had been surprised. Once he had been sure the danger was gone, Dantalion was immediately at Aziraphale’s side. The blindfold had been removed at that point, and Aziraphale saw for himself, once and for all, that Dantalion and Thomas were the same being. He’d been hoodwinked, bamboozled, and he’d somehow been tricked into being happy about it.

The residual feelings were still there. Now that his mind was being left alone, Aziraphale was able to think logically through them, but try as he might, he had been unable to get those feelings to go away. When Dantalion had kneeled by his side and placed a hand lightly on his cheek, Aziraphale had leaned into it, blinking back tears as the miracle had flowed from the demon’s fingertips, banishing Aziraphale’s pain and leaving him as good as new.

Aziraphale didn’t understand what was going on. Try as he might, he couldn’t wrap his head around why Dantalion had brought him here if he wasn’t planning on some kind of grand torture. The angel didn’t know much about demonic lore, so he wasn’t very confident in Dantalion’s position here in Hell. The demon was a Duke of some sort, that much was obvious, but Aziraphale had no actual idea what he _did_ when he wasn’t traipsing around on Earth, pretending to be a human, attempting to woo an angel.

Again, Dantalion said nothing. Aziraphale watched as the demon took a deep breath and allowed his whole body to relax. Almost immediately, his face started to change. The differences were imperceptible at first. So minute that if the angel looked at two images side by side that had been captured a second apart, he wouldn’t have been able to tell the difference. As the seconds ticked on, the change became more pronounced and soon enough, Aziraphale was staring at the face of an entirely different man.

Still pale skinned, with lighter, curlier hair and hundreds and hundreds of freckles. Aziraphale blinked, taking it all in, watching as that new face faded and made way for yet another one. It was absolutely mesmerizing to behold. The angel felt as if all of humanity was staring over at him with those deeply intense grey eyes.

_Beautiful,_ the angel thought, careful not to let the word slip out. He’d finally let go of the Heavenly propaganda that demons and angels were hereditary enemies, thanks to Crowley, but that didn’t mean Aziraphale should go around befriending every fowl fiend he met. Especially not ones that lied to him, manipulated his feelings, kidnapped him from his home, and imprisoned him in Hell.

“I don’t understand,” the demon across from him whispered. “How can you just sit there like that? How can you still be so kind, after everything that I’ve done?”

“Well,” Aziraphale started, folding his hands neatly on his lap as he addressed the demon. “In my defense, you messed up my emotions somehow – got me to care about you. So it’s hardly my fault.”

Dantalion’s face fell immediately and Aziraphale leaned forward in his seat. Interesting. Perhaps Crowley wasn’t the only demon who could feel guilt and remorse for the things he’d done.

“That being said,” the angel continued with a much gentler tone, “I believe wholeheartedly that showing kindness is the way all of us should live, not just the humans. And I try to do that each and every day, toward everyone I meet.” He paused, smiling softly to himself. “Unless I run into someone trying to buy one of my books.”

The demon let out a laugh at this and Aziraphale felt his heart soar. Maybe there was still hope yet. Maybe he could get back home, somehow, and see Crowley again. They had so much that they needed to talk about. So much they’d left unsaid for far too long.

Slowly, the look of sorrow fell upon Dantalion’s face once more. His eyes shone with emotion as he gazed upon the angel, hair lengthening to somewhere around his shoulders, falling in tight dark spirals that complemented his darkening skin and softening features. Aziraphale waited a moment more, curious to hear what Dantalion would say next. Anxious to know what the demon wanted with him and why he looked so defeated in that moment.

“Aziraphale,” Dantalion whispered finally, the words echoing in the stone room around them. Other than the two chairs, bookshelf, table and blanket, there was nothing else here. No windows, no other furniture, no color other than the brownish gray of the walls and floor. Nothing else to distract him from the demon about to bare his soul for the very first time. “Why didn’t you love me?”

Whatever he had been expecting, this had not been it. A demon, concerned about love? This hadn’t been the first time, Aziraphale was sure about it. Crowley had never been so bold, though, had never spoken so openly about it before. The angel had hoped so many times that he would, but here he was. Trapped in the bowels of Hell with no idea _for sure_ how exactly Crowley loved him.

“If you’ll recall,” the angel prodded, gently, “I said I _did_ love you.”

Dantalion scowled. Such a different expression, Aziraphale found, when it was presented with the more feminine features he was currently donning. “Not the right way.”

Aziraphale stifled the urge to roll his eyes. _He doesn’t understand,_ the angel reminded himself. He doubted that any demon that lived down here for six thousand years did. But, if Crowley was any indication, Dantalion had the capacity to understand, if Aziraphale chose to be patient with him.

“There are many kinds of love, my dear.” Aziraphale allowed the smile to seep into his voice. He watched as Dantalion leaned forward in his seat, a bit of color returning to the hands he’d once clasped so tightly together. “There’s the love a mother has for her child. The love of friends who are practically brothers. The general love we feel for our neighbors. And the love we feel for ourselves. All of these are _right_. All of these are good and special and wonderful, when you let yourself experience them.”

The demon didn’t seem satisfied with Aziraphale’s answer. “But you love him more.” It wasn’t a question, and Aziraphale didn’t need to ask who Dantalion was referring to. He felt a spark of sadness enter his heart as thoughts of Crowley once again danced across his mind.

“Dantalion,” Aziraphale tried again. “Love isn’t something that just happens overnight. You don’t just look at a person and fall in love. And you can’t force it either. It can take years to build up the kind of trust with someone needed to be in love with them. The kind you need to be vulnerable with them.” He paused, surprised at the emotions suddenly welling up inside of him. An image of Crowley’s face appeared in Aziraphale’s mind – his soft smile as he gazed over at the angel from across a dinner table, hiding behind his black glasses.

Tears welled up, but the angel managed to hold them back, continuing on with a shaky breath. “I’ve known Crowley for over six thousand years. I realized I was in love with him in 1941.” The angel smiled softly, sadly, thinking about all that time wasted. All the time since then he’d wasted because he’d always been so afraid. “It took me five _thousand, _nine-hundred and forty-five years to admit to myself that I loved Crowley. I _still_ haven’t admitted it out loud to anyone, except for you.” The pair shared a surprising, but sweet smile. Aziraphale felt a soft warmth settle into his chest as he looked upon the demon, attention completely on Aziraphale, soaking in every last word the angel said.

“Humans don’t take nearly that long,” he amended. “They don’t have that luxury. And, well, I’ve always been a little slow on the uptake.”

The demon still wore a frown on his face. Different lips, different furrow of the eyebrows. Same stormy gaze not one leaving Aziraphale’s face.

“I still don’t understand.” Of course he didn’t. How could he when Aziraphale barely understood it himself? Even after years of pondering, the angel had yet to come up with an explanation as to how an angel, such as himself, had fallen in love with a demon. It was truly ineffable.

Aziraphale smiled sadly. “Let me try and explain.”

And with nothing better to do with his time, enjoying Dantalion’s company much more than sitting here alone, Aziraphale did his best to explain just how much Crowley meant to him.

He spoke of the garden wall and how Crowley, ‘Crawly’ back then, had approached him, comforted him in his time of need. How the demon had made him smile on what had been the first bad day of his life. He spoke of the flood and how Aziraphale had caught his first glimpse of the demon’s compassion. Together, they traveled through the years, the angel painting a picture of the kind of person Crowley was. Not a demon, not a force of Hell, just Crowley the person.

The crucifixion, rise and fall of Rome, Europe and the Black Death, the Great Fire of London, Paris during the French Revolution, World War II. Crowley had been there with him through it all. Crowley had been on _their side_ long before Aziraphale had even known such a thing existed.

“That was when I knew.” Dantalion had kept his eyes on Aziraphale the whole time, never once interrupting. The angel didn’t know if he was getting anything out of this conversation, but it was making Aziraphale feel better. Even though Crowley wasn’t here with him now, he had faith they would see each other again, hopefully someday soon. “He didn’t have to save my books, but he did. Crowley used a miracle to save something precious to me and he did it without expecting anything in return. He’s saved me, time and time again, always been there when I needed him.”

The angel paused finally, his hands wringing together on his lap. “I can’t imagine my life without him. I wouldn’t want to live a life that he’s not a part of. He’s my very best friend, you know. It’s always been us against the world. Even when I didn’t see it, Crowley did. And that is one of the many reasons that I love him with all that I am.”

“And you’ve never told him?” Aziraphale was surprised this was the first question Dantalion had thought to ask. He had been prepared for another onslaught on the nature of love, not for the demon to close in so quickly on one of the angel’s biggest regrets.

“Being in love makes you vulnerable,” he explained. “And being vulnerable is frightening. I never told Crowley because I was afraid he didn’t feel the same. I was afraid of doing something that would break our friendship. I didn’t want to lose him.”

A pause. A shaky breath to stead his emotions. “I still don’t.”

Dantalion sighed and leaned back into the chair, crossing his legs in front of him. “He does,” the demon said, without any further prompting. “Love you, you know.”

Aziraphale sat up straighter, suddenly much warmer than he had been a moment ago. “He wh – how do you know?” There was no way for Dantalion to possibly know for sure, unless Crowley had told him. Why would he do that? Why wouldn’t he just come to Aziraphale directly? Something like this was too important to go about telling just anyone. Aziraphale should have been the first to know if it were true.

Nevermind the fact that he was doing just that, right here, right now.

The demon looked over at Aziraphale, silent for a moment, as if he were trying to find the missing piece to some unsolvable puzzle that had been placed before him.

“I saw it,” Dantalion explained, a hint of incredulity seeping into his voice. “That’s where all this started, Aziraphale. I came to Earth months ago to torture Crowley. And I was able to pull it off _because_ he loves you. I manipulated the love you had for Crowley and started directing it at myself. I made you fall for me and he was in agony, thinking you were going to leave him behind.”

Blue eyes widened. Aziraphale felt a surge of anger, both toward Dantalion and toward himself, threaten to take him over. “And is this what this is?” the angel asked desperately. “Just a way to hurt Crowley more? Make him fear for my safety? Keep me in a place he can’t get to me, where he might never see me again?”

The thought was too much to bare. It explained so much – the way Crowley had been acting for the past several weeks, how Aziraphale had been so overwhelmed and confused by everything that had happened. It explained _everything_ that had gone wrong since they’d stopped the world from ending.

“Answer me!” The angel shouted when Dantalion did not respond. At his outburst, the demon looked up startled, moisture reflecting across his eyes in the dim light. “Is hurting Crowley what all of this is about?”

Slowly, agonizingly so, the demon shook his head. “No. Not anymore.” Dantalion took a deep, shaky breath, tears finally falling. There was a chance this was another trick – an act to lure him into a false sense of security, but something in Aziraphale’s gut told him that his was genuine. A flash of fear filled him as he thought of his beloved demon.

_Please, oh please. I don’t care what happens to me. Just please keep him safe. _

Dantalion’s expression shifted for the briefest flicker of a second. Aziraphale wanted to ask him about it – wanted to ask him what thought had just crossed his mind, but the demon was too quick. The next words out of his mouth sent fear stabbing into Aziraphale’s heart and he was unable to focus on anything else.

“It’s about to get much, much worse. For you and for Crowley.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one was a very interesting one for me to write. I really enjoyed getting to see a different side of Dantalion here. I'd love to hear what you guys thought about it. 
> 
> Up next, we finally see how this trial/punishment will pan out. Any thoughts as to what might happen? 
> 
> I wasn't able to get this chapter out to you guys yesterday, but I've got nothing on my calendar this evening (which if you know anything about me, is a miracle) so perhaps I can get the next one out sometime this evening! We shall see.


	28. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale and Crowley's trial begins.

Crowley was pissed.

Crowley was beyond pissed. Crowley was furious, livid, incensed, outraged. Crowley was all of these words combined and multiplied a hundredfold. He was going to _destroy_ Dantalion. Rip him limb from limb, slide his serpentine body around the bastard’s neck and squeeze the life out of him molecule by molecule. Dump him in a vat of Holy Water until there wasn’t a speck of him left.

How had this happened? How had he been so blind? He _knew _what Dantalion was capable of. Crowley knew exactly what he had been dealing with and he’d been blindsided anyway, because he’d just been so _fucking_ happy to see Aziraphale again that he’d thrown caution out the window. He’d gone _too fucking fast_ and his angel was still in danger and it was all Crowley’s fault!

What must Aziraphale think of him now? Did he know how long he’d been down here? Did Crowley? Last he’d checked, it had been less than twenty-four hours, but that had been before he’d been knocked out. When he’d come to, Crowley found bound to a grungy wall, chains tight against his wrists, alone in an empty room. He could have been like this for minutes or hours or days for all he knew. The demon didn’t have the normal telltale signs like humans did to help him decipher how much time had passed. There was no weariness to his mind - the telltale sign of a lack of sleep, no stabbing pain in his stomach to indicate how long it had been since he’d eaten. 

He could have been chained down here for five minutes or five weeks and everything would appear exactly the same. 

The demon pulled against his bonds, wincing as pain shot up his wrists each time he tugged. It seemed like the harder he fought, the more the pain spread throughout his body, starting in his wrists and hands and radiating up his arm and throughout his entire body. An ingenious design that would hold both angel and demon. Crowley growled in frustration.

Just imagine what they could do if Heaven and Hell worked together on something that actually mattered. 

_Aziraphale. _Crowley hung his head in shame. He had failed his friend. Failed to rescue him from danger, failed to keep him safe. Failed to let him know just how _bloody_ much Crowley cared for the angel. He’d had so many opportunities to do so, but the demon had been too afraid, and now it was too late. Heaven and Hell had every intention of sending them into oblivion the last time they had met face to face. There was every reason to believe they would do so again.

The thought that he might not see his angel ever again stabbed like daggers into Crowley’s chest. He could barely breathe through the pain.

A sound at the edge of his hearing caused the demon to glance up. He watched with slitted amber eyes, aware for the first time that his glasses were no longer perched on the edge of his nose. They must have fallen off when Dantalion had kidnapped him and left him to rot in this room.

Crowley tugged at the bonds again, testing them, ignoring the lightning bolt of pain that shot up his arms, making his shoulders numb. He hoped that _bastard_ was the one coming to fetch him. Even better if the demon came alone. There was no amount of infernal or celestial bonds that would be able to hold him back. Dantalion was going to pay for what he had done. 

“Oh,” Crowley remarked, recognizing the ash-white hair of the demon entering the room, followed closely by another familiar face. “Hastur, Dagon, so nice of the two of you to drop by.”

The pair of demons sneered at him, stalking over to stand beside him. Before Crowley could get another word in, Hastur’s fist came out of nowhere, striking at his stomach, knocking the wind straight out of his lungs. The demon doubled over in pain, but did not make a sound, other than to let a soft chuckle slip out into the air around him.

“Come on,” Dagon grumbled, grabbing onto the chains that bound Crowley to the stone wall. At his touch, they immediately leapt from the mortar and coiled around Dagon’s hands, rattling with satisfaction as the demon smirked with pleasure. “We have some very important people waiting for you, Crowley.”

“Well isn’t this my lucky day,” the demon spat, earning him a swift kick to the ribs. Crowley groaned, but noticed the wry look Dagon shot Hastur out of the corner of his eye. Something was going on here.

“We don’t have time for this.” Dagon was addressing Hastur this time, not Crowley. The two appeared to be at odds over something. Perhaps Crowley could use this knowledge to his advantage. If he could just get the two arguing as enough of a distraction, maybe he could slip away. Find his way back to Aziraphale. Find their way home again. “They’ve already brought the angel up.”

Crowley’s blood turned to ice.

_No._ Not Aziraphale. Not his angel. What were they planning on doing to him? Heaven already believed he couldn’t be killed by Hellfire. Had they found him out? Come up with some new way to torture him? Were they planning on torturing Crowley, forcing the angel to watch?

_Please, no._ The demon cried silently as he was dragged up by the manacled hands in front of him. _Please keep Aziraphale safe. I don’t care what happens to me, but keep my angel safe._

It was a worthless prayer. A hopeless one. Crowley knew no one was listening. He knew there was no one out there that could hear him – that cared enough to hear him. Still, the demon prayed. There was nothing left he could do. Nothing left inside of him that could save them. This was where their story ended.

At least he would have one last chance to see his angel before the bitter end.

The demons dragged him out of the pits of Hell without a word spoken between them. They kept their eyes fixed ahead as they rose out of the ground, emerging out into the open space of The Lobby, flooded with a combination of fluorescent bulbs and rays of sunlight filtering in through the glass windows.

Nearly a dozen figures were standing off to the side of the room, waiting for them. Divided evenly down the middle. Demons on the right. Angels on the left. Crowley’s eyes danced across each figure’s frame until they fell upon the only one he cared to see.

Aziraphale was bound in similar shackles, hands held out in front of him as he stood flanked by demons on either side. He’d been blindfolded, but apart from his apparent lack of sight, the angel looked untouched. Crowley breathed a sigh of relief, thinking of how much worse it could have been. How much worse he had thought it had been before, when he’d been tricked into rescuing an imposter.

“Aziraphale!” Crowley called out, unable to stop himself as his angel came into view. Aziraphale’s head turned at the sound of the demon’s voice, his face simultaneously filling with what looked to be relief and fear. Crowley lunged forward suddenly, trying to make his way to the angel, biting back a hiss of pain as the shackles around his wrist burned with holy energy.

That was going to leave a mark.

“Crowley, my dear,” the angel breathed back. It would have been impossible to miss the devastation in his voice. So Aziraphale hadn’t known Crowley would be here. He thought the punishment had been meant for him alone, only to find out Heaven and Hell had their claws in Crowley too.

The demon opened his mouth to comfort the angel – to tell him it was all going to be alright, somehow, but was silenced by Gabriel, who took a step forward to address them all.

“Bring him here.”

Before Crowley could blink, Aziraphale was dragged in front of the Archangel. He did not cry out, did not struggle. The angel simple moved as best he could against the rough hands holding him in place. He kept his head held high, turned in Gabriel’s direction as if he could see through the cloth.

There was a crackling energy all around them as Demon Lords and Archangels alike simultaneously leaned forward in anticipation. Something was about to happen here, and the thought of it froze every molecule in Crowley’s body. His amber eyes darted across the room, taking in as much information as he could. Willing there to be some sort of clue. Something to tell him what was about to happen. Something to show him a way for at least Aziraphale to make it out in one piece.

It was only then that he saw the sword.

“Aziraphale!” Gabriel’s voice called out over the thirteen witnesses that had gathered to oversee the execution of their punishment. “Principality. _Former_ guardian of the Eastern Gate. You have been found guilty of treason against Heaven. You aided in stopping Armageddon. You interfered with Great Plan and prevented the Geat Battle between the forces of Heaven and Hell.” He raised a hand and Uriel stepped forward, brown eyes flashing, the sword in her hand blazing to life.

Crowley watched in horror as both Sandalphon and Marchosias stepped forward, reaching out a hand to wrench Aziraphale’s wings outward so that all could see. The angel cried out in pain as fingers gripped the sensitive feathers, yanking at them in a way they were not meant to be yanked. Once again, Crowley strained at his bonds, throwing out each and every miracle he could think of into the air in an attempt to free himself. Aziraphale was _right there._ All he had to do was pull himself free and they would be gone. No more messing around on this playground for self-righteous, self-centered eternal beings. He would take them both to the stars and never look back. Gabriel and Beelzebub and all the others would never find them again. Never hurt them again.

“Your punishment will be an eternity of mortality,” the Archangel continued, violet eyes glaring down at Aziraphale’s face. “Each and every time you die here on Earth and your spirit returns to Heaven, we will send you right back down.” He grinned, so satisfied that things were finally going his way. Crowley wanted to lunge forward and beat that smug smile off his pretty little face. How were the rest of the Archangels ok with this? How had they been ok with throwing Aziraphale in to Hellfire six months ago? When had it become their job to dole out punishment for an angel’s misdeeds?

“Every time you become mortal, you will forget about everything tying you to Heaven or Hell. You will be completely and fully human.”

The demon found himself scanning the line of angels desperately, looking for a friendly face. Remiel had helped him to save Aziraphale once. Was it possible she would do it again? It didn’t take long for his amber eyes to locate her – the only one amongst them still choosing to wear the white robes they’d donned at The Beginning. Hope filled his chest, only to be dashed as he realized she was staring down at Aziraphale, an impassive look on her face, brown eyes filled with pain.

Remiel couldn’t help them. No one could. This was the end for them both. They hadn’t said as much, but Crowley wasn’t stupid. He knew the same fate awaited him once they were finished with Aziraphale. A life of mortality, with no knowledge of who he was. No knowledge of Hell and the demons that lived there. No knowledge of Heaven and the wolves-in-sheep’s-clothing that watched over them. No knowledge of anything that, in his mind, had been the source of all his pain throughout his eternal life. As far as punishments went, it could be worse.

A life of mortality with no knowledge of Aziraphale? Now that was unthinkable.

With a simple nod, Gabriel stepped back, allowing Uriel to take center stage. She took a moment to make eye contact with both Sandalphon and Marchosias, who returned her stoic gaze with amused smiles. Crowley felt his heart leap into his throat as the demon on Aziraphale’s right stepped to the side, pulling the wing out as far as it would go, grinning as the angel kneeling below them cried out in pain.

Crowley realized what was about to happen a split second before it did. He felt a scream rip itself from his throat as the fiery blade fell through the air, slicing through flesh and feathers as though they were nothing. A cry of pain erupted from Aziraphale’s lips as the angel lurched forward, thrashing against the beings that held him down. The stench of smoldering flesh filled the air around them as Crowley watched with wide-eyed horror, unable to look away.

This was beyond anything he could have thought possible. Beyond what terrible things humans could think up on their own. Beyond what even demons did on a daily basis to torture the humans in their care. Aziraphale rocked back on his knees, panting with the exertion of trying to stay remotely conscious through the pain, tiny sobs slipping through his lips as the angel tried to keep himself from falling apart.

Tears streaked down the demon’s face as he fought against the chains that held him down, screaming at them to stop, to let them go, to show mercy. Calling them out for the monsters that they had become. Crowley fought with all his might to break free – to rush to his angel’s side and carry him away. To, at the very least, push Aziraphale aside and demand to take his place.

If this was going to happen to either of them, it should have been Crowley. Aziraphale didn’t deserve this. Not now, not ever.

Uriel shifted positions, drawing the flaming sword up high over her head as Sandalphon stepped back to extend the remaining wing, Marchosias holding onto Aziraphale’s arm to keep him firmly in place. Crowley lurched forward, but was stopped as a burning pain shot through his whole body. He thrashed and shouted and hollered until his throat was dry, voice ringing out through the silent hall, unheard by everyone.

_Crowley_. A familiar voice broke through the chaos in his mind, but the demon did not stop. Time seemed to slow as another sob of pain fought its way out of the angel’s mouth. The skin on his back where his wing had once been was fuming. Thin tendrils of smoke rose into the air above the blistering flesh, a mix of angry red and charred black. Crowley fought the sudden urge to lose the lunch he hadn’t eaten as his wide amber eyes took in the gruesome sight.

_Crowley,_ the voice tried again. Still the demon screamed, nonsensical sounds at this point, his mind no longer capable of forming coherent thoughts. How could it when his very soul was being torn in two?

_Crowley, you need to stop time as soon as that wing is severed if you want to save Aziraphale._

The sound died in his throat. His first instinct was to look over at Remiel and send her a very rude gesture, but as his hands were currently shackled together, he figured that wouldn’t go over well. What the fuck was she trying to say? Aziraphale was already lost. Couldn’t she see the damage that had been done right before her eyes. There was no coming back from that.

_Crowley,_ the voice was more urgent this time. Desperate. What reason would Remiel have to be so desperate? To sound so afraid? _Crowley, pull yourself together. Open your eyes for Heaven’s sake._

And so he did. In the time it took for the flaming sword to slice through the distance between Uriel and the angel kneeling before her, Crowley looked around. His amber eyes scanned every face in attendance, from Mammon’s dark scowl to Michael’s self-righteous grin, stopping only once to observe Dantalion’s ever changing face, as stoic as could be, looking on at the scene that was unfolding before him with a detached grimace and shimmering blue eyes.

As blue as a summer’s sky.

Suddenly, Crowley understood.

The sword sliced through the second wing like a knife through softened butter, bringing with it the same agonizing scream accompanied with burning flesh and tendrils of serpentine smoke. As the lifeless wing clattered to the floor, the scene in front of them began to change, the appearance of two figures in the room rippling as their true forms were revealed.

With his heart in his throat, Crowley gathered the fear twisting around inside of him and allowed it to pulse outward, slowing everything around him but three eternal beings and one newly made mortal.

Remiel was on him in an instant, rushing past the body slumping unconscious to the floor, hair already turning from fluffy blonde curls to a much deeper brown. Crowley strained against his bonds to see more, but the Archangel blocked his line of sight as she reached out a hand, placing it over the ethereal manacles. A flash of bright white light emerged from the angel’s palm and suddenly Crowley found himself free of one restraint and bound by another as Remiel manifested her wings and tugged him forward, fingers clenching around his thin wrist.

“Aziraphale,” Crowley breathed as he saw, from the corner of his eye, the blue-eyed demon slowly morphing back into the angel he loved so dearly. He took an unsteady step forward, not understanding why Aziraphale was rushing to Dantalion’s side as opposed to his own. Feeling the ugly burn of resentment and hate as he thought of all that demon had put them through.

“We don’t have time, Crowley,” Remiel urged, pulling him in the opposite direction, away from his angel and toward the door. Her wings stretched wide around him, blocking the entire scene from his sight. “Aziraphale will grab Dantalion and get him to safety. You and I have to leave. _Now. _We’re the distraction.”

There were so many things he wanted to say to her in that moment. What was going on? Why were they waiting until now to escape, if this had been the plan all along? Where were they going to go? Why did he have to leave Aziraphale behind again after he’d only just found the angel? Why was Remiel so keen on helping them?

He settled for stating the obvious, instead of asking the string of unending questions the demon knew she would never answer. “I don’t give a _fuck_ what happens to Dantalion.”

She had the audacity to smile sadly at him. “I know.” Then, in the same breath, snapped him back to attention. “Wings out. Now. Your little party trick won’t hold Gabriel for long.”

Crowley’s body did as she commanded, sensing the truth in her words. His black wings unfurled themselves and before he could take a moment to glance behind him, they were in the air, rocketing towards the skylights above them that had mysteriously lost every trace of glass they’d once held.

Chancing a glance downward, the demon spotted Aziraphale’s familiar white wings and breathed a sigh of relief. The angel’s feet were just now leaving the ground, strong arms cradling the unconscious figure of a familiar looking human. One that Crowley had grown to loathe over the past several weeks. One that should have known to leave well enough alone.

At least he’d finally gotten what he deserved.

Small hand around his wrist, Remiel led him up and out of the building, soaring up toward the cloud cover above. To his shock, Aziraphale emerged moments later, heading off in the opposite direction with the unconscious Dantalion in tow.

“There is a plan to meet up later,” Remiel half-explained as she tugged him back toward her. Crowley hadn’t even realized he’d made a move to break away. All he wanted was to be by Aziraphale’s side again, where he belonged. “You and I have to lead the others on a little goose chase. Gabriel won’t be far behind. Can you do that?” She asked, pausing to hover in the air as best angels could.

Crowley looked at her, nodding, a fierce determination in his bright amber eyes. He may not have a clue as to what the _fuck_ was going on right now, but the demon did know one thing. He would do whatever it took to keep his angel safe. If that meant circling around the city limits for hours as a distraction for a bunch of Demon Lords and Archangels, he would do it gladly.

Anything, to see Aziraphale safe and sound in his arms once more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay in getting this out to you guys! I know how anxious you've been to read it. I got wrapped up last night in another Good Omens related side project. I saw a really neat idea for a one-shot on tumblr last night and just had to write it! If you guys like Greek Mythology, the musical Hadestown, or stories that rip your heart out and stomp all over it, feel free to give my latest work a read through. I'd love some feedback on it (pretty please?)
> 
> https://archiveofourown.org/works/21076481
> 
> For this story, up next we'll finally get some insight into Remiel! I'm excited for the chance to expand on her character a bit more. I hope this chapter was an enjoyable one for you all, even though I know it was a pretty tense one. Feel free to let me know what you think! I'd love to hear from you. Thanks for reading, and I'll see you all again soon.


	29. Interlude: The London Sky

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Remiel and Crowley lead the Archangels and Demon Lords on a wild goose chase. Remiel reveals some information to her new companion.

Remiel climbed higher into the sky, leading them directly toward the cloud cover and out of sight. Crowley followed her at a distance, giving the Archangel enough room to fully spread her wings, but keeping close enough to speak to her if he so chose.

He did not. The demon remained silent as they punched through the grey overcast that seemed to eternally hang over the London sky. It was cold and wet and the shock of it flooded her body, making the Archangel gasp. The moisture clung to her face, her hair, her robe, and still she flew on, understanding exactly what was at stake if they failed.

Crowley’s silence worried her. In order for this plan to work, he needed to trust her. Right now, he had absolutely no reason to do so. Not unless he started asking questions. Not unless he gave her a chance to explain herself.

“I would have warned you that clouds were wet,” the demon muttered as he rose on a column of air, positioning himself just to her left. Remiel looked over, marveling at how his fiery red hair was tousled so gently in the wind. A pair of black sunglasses had materialized on his face, blocking his snake-like eyes from her view, but doing nothing to hide the perception that he was glaring right at her. “But then I remembered how much I didn’t care.”

Remiel’s response was only to look over at him calmly and miracle away the cold that was clinging to her body. Her powerful white wings stretched out behind her, changing their stroke slightly to start and propel her forward rather than upward. Glancing behind her, Remiel extended her sense, surprised to find that Crowley had been able to keep time frozen around the others for so long. It was only now beginning to crumble.

Gently, the Archangel slowed her pace. They couldn’t get too far ahead, or Gabriel would give up the chase. They had to let him believe he could still catch up.

“I’m impressed,” she told him, hoping to open some sort of communication between them. Remiel knew Crowley had questions. She knew she needed to explain herself, but had absolutely no idea how to go about doing it. “I believe I severely underestimated your abilities, Crowley.”

The demon looked over at her. Even through the glasses, she could tell something about what she’d just said has surprised him. “You wouldn’t be the first,” he muttered, casting a glance over his shoulder. The duo couldn’t see Gabriel, but Remiel could sense him at the edge of her consciousness. She felt as another dimension opened up around him and many of the others, signaling they were materializing their wings to take flight. Relief flooded through the Archangel when they all took off after her very obvious trail.

Steps one and two had been accomplished. Time to move onto the chase. Without warning, Remiel sped up.

“Gabriel and the others have caught onto us,” she explained after another moment of silence, not understanding why he was still so silent. Didn’t he have questions? There was no way he would follow her blindly. Not without understanding her motivations, which she was sure he did not. Not yet, anyway. “We’ll have to keep them occupied for a little while, at least. To give Aziraphale some time.”

She purposefully left her words ambiguous, goading him into conversation with her. Remiel needed Crowley to understand, but more importantly, she needed him to want to understand.

  
Instead of asking her to clarify, instead of interrogating her for the details of her plan or how she knew Aziraphale would be safe from their pursuers or how she and Aziraphale and Dantalion had come up with this plan in the first place, the demon turned to her and demanded: “Where were you?”

Had she been walking on the ground, Remiel would have screeched to a halt. Being in the air thankfully used a slightly different part of her brain, so upon hearing those words she did not immediately freeze up and fall out of the sky. Her wings kept flapping and only her mind came to a sudden stop as she turned to look at the demon beside her.

“Excuse me?” Remiel wasn’t trying to come across as rude. She simply didn’t understand what this question meant or where it was coming from.

“Were were you?” the demon asked again, with the same words, the same inflection in his voice, the same grave look of masked fury on his face. “Where were you six months ago? Where were you when the ‘Archangel fucking Gabriel’ tried to throw Aziraphale into a pillar of Hellfire? Where were you when the world was bloody ending?”

The edge of her wing caught on an updraft and Remiel banked suddenly to the left. Crowley followed her movement action for action, keeping just far away enough that he wouldn’t be in danger of clipping his wing on her own. Deep within her gut, the Archangel felt an uncomfortable clenching. These sorts of experiences were still so new to her. In Heaven, Remiel had one job and she did it well. It was straightforward and didn’t require her to feel much of anything except for the occasional flash of joy as a deserving soul was lead into eternal happiness.

She couldn’t be sure, but Remiel had an inkling she was experiencing a feeling now. One of the not so good ones. Was it sorrow? Remorse? Guilt? How did these humans tell them all apart?

“I was doing my job.” It was the truth, though the Archangel realized it was far from a satisfactory remark.

The demon scoffed, as she expected he would. As much as she wished it wasn’t the case, she didn’t have a better answer for him. The Great Plan had stated that the world would end in fire and flames after six thousand years. Up until then, Remiel had done her job. She’d overseen each and every soul that had entered Heaven’s gates and when Gabriel had announced he had reason to believe that the Antichrist had been delivered to Earth, he’d heard no complaint from her.

It wasn’t like Remiel had wanted to go to War with Hell. She liked her job, but like all the angels knew it had to end eventually. It was written, after all. And who was she to argue with that?

And then Armageddon had been cancelled. Stopped completely in its tracks, reversed to nothing, as if it had never even happened. And for the first time since she’d opened her eyes and found herself in an all-white room with five other beings, Remiel had begun to think that maybe not everything was as black and white as she had originally thought. Maybe this thing they knew as ‘life’ was just a bit more complicated than she believed it to be.

For the first time in six thousand years, she had hope.

“Well then,” the demon hissed at her, once again glancing over his shoulder. They were still ahead of the group of angels and demons in pursuit of them, but Gabriel was motivated. He was gaining on them, inch by inch, minute by minute. They wouldn’t be able to keep him out of their sights forever. “What makes this so different, hm?” She was sure that behind those solid black lenses, his eyes were blazing with fury. And rightfully so. “Why are you so desperate to save us this time? Why go against Gabriel and risk everything for a renegade angel and demon?”

Remiel winced at the harshness in his tone. Without a word of warning, she banked to the right, keeping most of their momentum headed forward. They needed to keep as much distance between them and Gabriel as they could, for as long as they could. Remiel had a way out. She was positive they wouldn’t be caught. But it would only work once. And the moment they got away, Gabriel would realize what they’d done and set his sights on Aziraphale and Dantalion instead.

She would do anything to keep that from happening.

“I wish there was a way I could truthfully say to you that all of this was a result of some selfless act.” The Archangel paused, wincing as the cold wind flung a strand of short black hair right into her eye. She hastily blinked the tears away, looking over at the demon once more. “You and I both know that’s not true.”

He waited, much more patiently than she would have expected him to, silently fuming behind a wall of black glass. Taking a deep breath, Remiel opened her mouth to reveal her heart’s most closely kept secret.

“My reasons for helping you - not just today, but in all the ways I’ve helped you, have been entirely selfish.” The words got lodged in her throat. This was much harder than she ever imagined it would be. Remiel could feel her heartbeat increasing, the quiet fluttering intensifying until it was a deafening pound that she was sure all of London could hear. How could anyone survive feelings like this? She felt as if she were about to explode.

The demon still waited. He wasn’t going to steal the words from her lips. He wanted to hear her say it out loud. He wanted a reason to hate her as much as he knew he should.  
“I didn’t do it for you,” she explained quietly, feeling a sudden urge to look away from him. Somehow, Remiel managed to ignore it. “I didn’t do it for Aziraphale. I did it for him.”

Crowley knew this was what she was going to say. He was a clever demon, observant, perceptive. He knew the only difference between what was happening now and what had taken place six months ago was the involvement of one particular demon. What he didn’t understand was ‘why’. Why would an angel - an Archangel at that - care so much for a demon? Why would she be willing to risk everything to try and save him?

“I know you hate him,” she began, unable to say his name out loud. Not the name he’d chosen to go by for the past six thousand years or the name he’d been forced to forget. Neither one of them sounded right in her mind, so she kept them both locked tightly away. “I understand why, and you have every reason to, after what he’s done.” She took another deep breath, closing her eyes momentarily, trying not to think of the flash of a flaming sword, the strangled cry of pain, wings thudding lifelessly to the floor. Memories she feared would be forever burned into her mind.

“But I could never.” Another flash of memory, this one much warmer. A full, rich laugh. Soft grey eyes alight with wonder, taking her by the hand, leading her down the grassy slope and toward the tall trees and the feathery creatures - covered with the brightest colors she had ever seen - that currently filled the air around them with song.

I made them for you. Not for them, for her. Remiel felt like a searing knife was being driven into her chest. This feeling she was familiar with, although it felt so much stronger here on Earth. So much stronger after what they’d all just been through.

She expected Crowley to say something. To yell at her. To scream about the monstrous things he had done. Remiel expected the demon to attack her over look at her with any form of concern. To look at her with a gaze of anything remotely resembling sympathy.

Under such a gaze, she had to look away. It was a good thing she did, as the moment the Archangel’s head turned to look behind her, she saw the glint of a fiery blade poking up through the cloud cover behind them, followed by several angels and demons as those on their tails broke through the expansive grey barrier.

They were gaining much faster than she had expected. Hopefully they had bought Aziraphale enough time to do what he needed to do. Quickly, Remiel scanned the air, counting heads, looking to see if everyone was there. Seven sets of black wings and four sets of white.

Barachiel was the only one that was missing. The Archangel didn’t know what to think about this, and at this point, she didn’t have time.

“We’ve got company,” she murmured, as if Crowley couldn’t tell what was happening by the dark look that had made its way onto her face. The bright light of the afternoon sun shone upon them, casting shadows below that raced across the layer of cloud cover beneath their dangling feet. Remiel looked to Crowley. “Do you have enough energy for one more miracle?”  
The demon nodded his head. “Where are we going?”

“The third alternative rendezvous point,” she responded instantly, not having a clue what that string of words would mean to him. As she expected, Crowley knew exactly what it meant. He shook his head in exasperation.

“If Aziraphale gave you that location, you’d better hope he ends up in the right place.” Despite everything that was going on around her, Remiel found herself smiling as she reached out to take Crowley’s hand in her own. “He never manages to keep them all straight.”

With a snap of his fingers, they were gone, materializing in the air above a park, sunlight now fully hidden above the clouds they had been racing above moments ago. Gabriel and the others were far outside her reach now, so she should have felt relief. Instead, the Archangel only felt her apprehension start to grow as the pair slowly descended upon an octagonal shaped structure with grey roof and open aired walls, surrounded by a wide graveled path and a collection of orange and red trees.

Below them, huddled inside of the bandstand was a slightly plump looking man with soft golden curls and piercing blue eyes, huddled over the still unconscious form of another man with much darker hair. Remiel recognized this man’s form, although she had never seen it in person before. He looked different than the being from her memories, but the Archangel knew that as soon as he opened his eyes again, she would know him, as she had always known him. As she would always know him.

“Oh,” she heard the demon breathe beside her. The grim sound caused her to turn toward where his gaze had fallen. To her surprise, Crowley was not staring down at the structure and the angel that currently knelt inside. Instead, his eyes were fixed on the path a little bit away where several humans were walking, making their way directly towards them.

Out in front was a female, wearing a high collared dress, half of her long brown hair tied up in a bun. By her side was a tall, gangly man with dark rimmed glasses and a faded green jacket. In tow behind them were four children - three boys and a girl - chattering happily amongst themselves, oblivious to the obvious stress the two that were leading them were currently under.

“You have got to be fucking kidding me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright guys. We are almost there. Next up is the reunion you've all been anxiously waiting for. I promise it's for real this time. No tricks. Just all of the feels.
> 
> Stay tuned!


	30. Chapter 21

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The group is finally reunited.

How was this possible? How was it that every single time something dangerous happened to them, these _ humans _ had to show up and get in the way? Crowley recognized that Anathema and Newton and the children had been an indispensable asset to him in the past. He would not be standing here, a few dozen feet away from Aziraphale, without their help. That didn’t mean he was thrilled to see them, especially because he knew the kind of threat that was currently scouring the city, looking for them.

Remiel rushed past him, hurrying over to Dantalion’s side, taking his still unconscious body into her lap as the angel beside her rose to his feet. Crowley’s amber eyes drifted to Aziraphale’s face. His perfect, beautiful, _ unharmed _ face. The angel locked gazes with him and smiled.

It was the most beautiful thing Crowley had ever seen.

Before the demon realized what was happening, he was running, arms wide open toward his angel. In a few seconds, the pair of them had closed the distance between them and Aziraphale flung himself into Crowley’s arm, burying his face into the demon’s neck.

Crowley almost fainted with relief. “Aziraphale…” he moaned, breathing in the familiar scent of old books and tea leaves and just the barest hint of rain, reminding him of the day they’d first met on the garden wall. “Angel.” He was here. He was safe. He was in _ Crowley’s arms _ . An immense pressure was suddenly lifted from the demon’s chest as he breathed in Aziraphale again and again and again. Aziraphale was _ home _.

“Oh, Crowley.” The sheer force of emotion that filled the air was enough to bring tears to Crowley’s eyes. Normally, the demon would have done everything in his power to hold them back, but he was too strung out - too completely and utterly exhausted to do anything in this moment but hold onto his angel tighter and let the blessed liquid fall.

Aziraphale was crying. Crowley could feel the collar of his shirt dampening already. Azirphale was sobbing, shaking as his fists dug into the back of the demon’s jacket, holding onto it for dear life. Slowly, gently, the demon lifted a hand and placed it on the back of the angel’s head, marveling at how the soft blonde curls danced around his fingers, wrapping themselves around him like he was always meant to be there.

“I thought I’d lost you,” the demon found himself saying, emotion sneaking its way into his voice as well. “Angel, I thought they’d got you. I thought - “

His voice broke off, unable to say the words that accompanied that image of fallen wings and burning flesh. Aziraphale moved to pull away and Crowley panicked, the arm currently around the angel’s shoulders clinging on a bit tighter. At the sight of his angel’s smile, the demon relaxed and allowed Aziraphale to pull back enough to look up at him.

Without a word, the angel reached a hand up and removed the glasses from Crowley’s face, tucking them gently into the front pocket of the black leather jacket. The demon stared down with wide amber eyes, unable to stop the tears from flowing. It was a wonder he was even still standing. 

“My dear,” the angel whispered and Crowley found his hand sliding from the back of Aziraphale’s head to cup his cheek, long spindly thumb reaching across to wipe the shimmering tears away from the angel’s impossibly soft skin. “Everything is alright now. I’m safe. You’re safe.” He beamed up at Crowley, more tears beginning to fall. The demon felt his heart clench painfully in his chest. “We’re together again. We’re safe.”

As he’d spoken, Aziraphale had moved the hand that had previously been dealing with the sunglasses over to lay on top of Crowley’s. The demon’s stomach fluttered at the contact, his breathing becoming more and more shallow as Aziraphale’s thumb traced lightly over the skin of his hand. He looked down to see a pair of bright blue eyes gazing up at him like he was the only thing in all of creation that mattered. Like there weren’t currently eight other beings around them, watching their every move. Like they were the only two people on the entire planet.

This was the point in all the movies and TV shows where the music would swell and Aziraphale’s eyes would flutter shut and Crowley would lean in for a kiss. This was the moment he would release all of his reservations and declare to the world that this was _ his _ angel. _ His. _ And no one else could have him. This was the moment when he proved to Aziraphale how he really felt - how he’d felt about the angel for the last six thousand years.

And Crowley hesitated.

Crowley hesitated, because he had done this before. He had bared his heart and soul, given words to the secret he had kept hidden for so long, allowed hope to linger in the air around him and it had all been thrown back into his face.

_ You are no longer Hers. I have no reason to love you. _

Those were not Aziraphale’s words. They had come from Aziraphale’s lips, been spoken in Aziraphale’s voice, but Crowley knew his angel had not been the one who had said them to him. Aziraphale would never.

Would he?

Dantalion had replicated everything else perfectly except for Aziraphale’s eyes. He’d stolen his voice, his face, his mannerisms. Crowley had been fully convinced that the demon had actually been his angel. And for good reason. After discovering who the demon was, Crowley had done a little research. He knew that Dantalion could take on the form of any other being at will. He knew that the Duke could sense and manipulate love. That was how he’d managed to ensnare Aziraphale so quickly.

Crowley also knew, assuming his research had been correct, that Dantalion could read thoughts. What if...what if the reason he’d been such a convincing Aziraphale was because he’d been able to read the angel’s thoughts? What if everything he had said to Crowley was actually how Airaphale felt? What if the angel really didn’t love him?

So, Crowley hesitated. It wouldn’t do to be rejected again here out in the open, where everyone could see. This was meant to be a joyous moment. They’d won, hadn’t they? They had rescued Aziraphale, escaped Hell’s clutches and successfully evaded Gabriel. It wasn’t over, not by a long shot, but they had reason to celebrate now.

No point in Crowley spoiling everything over some ridiculous unrequited feelings.

So, with all the remaining strength he could muster, Crowley pulled away from Aziraphale and stepped to the side, hovering just behind the angel as the humans swarmed in to greet him.

To his surprise, Anathema approached him first, wrapping her arms around him in a swift hug.

“I’m so relieved to see you both safe and sound.”

The demon tried to smile, he really did, but it barely tugged at the corner of his lips. Why was she here, after everything they had put her through? Crowley had lead a demon into her home, brought her to the front doors of Hell, deposited her into a strange house, sent her away, and then vanished without a trace. He couldn’t even imagine what the past few days had been like for Anathema, and yet here she was.

“Why are you here?” The demon found himself asking, searching her deep brown gaze. “How did you even know where we would be? How did you find us?”

She had no answer for him. “I just had a feeling that I should be here. When the rest of them found out I was going, they followed.” She paused, but only for a moment. “What happened?”

At that, Crowley had to look away for a moment. His eyes met Aziraphale’s for a moment as the angel gave the last child a quick hug. Together, the group drew together around the inside wall of the bandstand. All eyes fell to the angel that knelt before them and the unconscious body of the human cradled in her arms.

“You’re an angel,” Newton remarked simply, gazing down at her expansive white wings. “Another one.”

Remiel looked up at him, pausing whatever she had been doing to address the human looking down at her. “I am. Did you think Aziraphale was the only one?”

The man blushed and Crowley tried his very best not to laugh. His eyes then fell to the figure in her lap and all joy left him. A wave of resentment washed through the demon as he looked down on the still form. Dantalion was breathing, but only just. His shirt had been pushed up to reveal two angry red scars on his back, right between his shoulder blades. The burns had been healed as well as they could be. All they could do now was wait until he woke up to see what other damage the whole ordeal had caused.

That could have been Aziraphale. It almost had been, except somehow - for some reason - Dantalion had took the angel’s place. Why? Why would a Duke of Hell purposefully switch places with an angel knowing what might happen to him?

Crowley had a feeling he knew a possible reason. He was afraid to ask out loud for someone to explain.

Unfortunately for him, Anathema was determined. “What happened?” she asked all of them this time. “How did you all escape?”

Aziraphale and Remiel shared a glance. Some unspoken message passed between them as the Archangel sighed and opened her mouth to tell the tale.

“The Archangels and Dukes of Hell met together to plan the details of the trial,” Remiel explained, quietly tugging Dantalion’s shirt back down to cover his back once more. She looked down at the man resting against her thigh, brown eyes shining with unshed tears. “We were in charge of setting up wards so that neither Crowley or Aziraphale would be able to escape.”

Remiel looked up at Aziraphale and gave him a sad smile, which the angel returned. Noticing this, Crowley took a step back toward his angel and wrapped an arm around his shoulders, drawing him in closer. Aziraphale’s hand slipped around the demon’s waist and settled in quite nicely over his hip. Crowley tried not to think too hard on how even that brief a touch warmed him from the inside out. The demon wanted _ more _. He wanted to wrap the angel up in his arms and never ever let go.

“I noticed that all the wards he was placing were tied directly to himself, not the architecture around us.” Crowley wasn’t surprised to see Anathema nodding at this. Obviously she would understand, even if the rest of them didn’t.

“What does that mean?” Adam asked, not afraid to interrupt to ensure that they all were on the same page.

Remiel turned to the boy, her brown eyes fixing on his face for a moment longer than necessary. “Basically, it means that if something were to happen to him, all the wards would break and Crowley and Aziraphale would escape. I asked him about it - and he told me.”

Crowley’s breath caught in his throat. He stilled completely, knowing exactly what was coming, wishing there was some way to make it not true.

“Dantalion wanted to switch places,” Aziraphale explained, picking up the story. “He didn’t know what was going to happen when the Archangels used that sword to cut off my wings. He didn’t know if it would do as they expected and turn me mortal or if it would kill me and he told me he couldn’t take that risk.” The angel paused and took a deep breath, pulling himself even closer to Crowley. “He told me it was his fault I’d ended up in this mess in the first place and that this was the only way for both Crowley and I to escape unscathed.”

All eyes turned to look at the unconscious figure still being cradled in Remiel’s lap. The former demon was breathing softly, eyes closed, face turned toward them. In this moment, he looked to be completely at peace. Crowley wondered if all Dantalion’s memories really were gone or if he would have some recollection of his time in Hell.

“Why would he do that?” One of the children - that one with the glasses and weird name...Wesley? Wensley? Something like that. “It doesn’t seem like a very demon-y thing to do, saving an angel.”

Anathema was the one who answered. “He loves Aziraphale,” her words were quiet, but carried themselves to each and every one of them. “Dantalion would never do anything to harm him. He’d never let anything this horrible happen to Aziraphale.”

Crowley looked up and met Remiel’s gaze. A soft sadness appeared in her eyes and for a brief moment, she looked exactly like Crowley felt. Helpless. Alone. Abandoned by the ones they cared about the most. Dantalion had loved Aziraphale, but had the angel loved him back? 

“So,” Newton said, attempting to sum it up. “Let me get this straight. You and Dantalion set up the wards to prevent Crowley and Aziraphale from escaping in a way that they would disappear once something happened to Dantalion. He then switched places with Aziraphale so that he would be the one getting his wings chopped off. And then when he did…?

Remiel nodded. “When his wings were removed, he became mortal. The wards disappeared, and he and Aziraphale turned back into their normal selves. Crowley was able to stop time long enough for us to get out of there. He and I lead Gabriel and the rest of the Archangels and Dukes away while Aziraphale flew here with Dantalion to try and heal him.”

Silence fell around them for a while as everyone took a moment to digest the information. Just when he thought they all were satisfied with what had happened, Pepper raised her voice.

“How did you know they’d all follow you?” she asked Remiel. “If it were me, I’d split the group half and half and track both targets down. Or better yet, I’d send everyone after the slower fliers. Better chance of catching them that way.”

Remiel actually smiled at this. Crowley had to admit, Pepper was a clever girl. Remiel’s whole plan had hinged on the fact that Gabriel would choose to follow them instead of Aziraphale. How had she known that was what he was going to do? They could have lost everything if she had been wrong. How had she _ known _ what the Archangel would do?

“I’ve known Gabriel since The Beginning,” she explained, softly. Sadly. “He has an obsession with dealing out justice for the things he believes are wrong with this world.” Remiel stopped for a moment, her brown eyes drifting down to the peaceful face of the now-human asleep in her lap.

“Given the choice between a Principality who misplaced an Antichrist and made friends with a demon and an Archangel who actively worked with Duke of Hell against him to save said principality and demon,” she broke off with a harsh laugh. “Well, you can see which of the two would be seen as a greater evil in his mind.”

They were all silent once more as the words sank in. Crowley looked down at the Archangel, his brow furrowing above wide amber eyes. The demon had first hand experience with Gabriel’s ‘justice’. Remiel had risked everything to save Dantalion. There was a good chance she would never be able to go back to Heaven again. She had known exactly what Gabriel would do and she had _ still _ gone through with it. Why?

He felt Aziraphale draw closer to him, blue eyes rimmed red as he gazed down at the Archangel and mortal still seated on the cold concrete floor. Remiel’s wings were still out, the right one resting gently over the lower half of Dantalion’s body, protecting it from the chill of the autumn afternoon air. The image was so strikingly similar to another angel who had lifted his wing to shelter a demon from a storm over six thousand years ago. As much as he hated Dantalion for everything he’d put them through, Crowley couldn’t help but feel a spark of sympathy. A twinge of understanding.

The demon would never, _ ever _, admit to it. But given the same choice, he would have done the same in a heartbeat. Aziraphale’s life was worth more to him than anything. He would face down a thousand Gabriels with a million flaming swords to keep his angel safe. 

_ His angel. _ The demon’s heart tore a little bit more inside of his chest. Oh, how he _ wished _ that were true.

_ You’re a demon. You can’t feel love. _ _ You are a stain of darkness when everywhere else I look is light. You no longer belong to Her. I have no reason to love you. _

Crowley clenched his teeth and tried to keep his heart from falling to pieces. _ Not Aziraphale’s words, _ he reminded himself. _ It wasn’t him. Dantalion was trying to hurt me. He was lying. Azriaphale doesn’t think that. He doesn’t! _

No matter how much he repeated those words in his head, Crowley knew they would not make a difference. He wasn’t going to be able to reason his way through this. He was going to have to talk to Aziraphale - again. Crowley was going to have to admit to the angel how he really felt and deal with the consequences. After everything they’d been through - after almost losing the angel again, Crowley didn’t know if he had it in him to pretend away his feelings any longer. He was going to have to confess.

But not here. Crowley rubbed his thumb against Aziraphale’s shoulder absentmindedly as the angel rested his head gently on the demon’s shoulder. Not now. He would wait until they had a moment alone, until they were safe inside behind closed doors. Even here, under the protection of the bandstand and overcast sky above them, the demon felt exposed. They should get moving again, before anyone figured out where they were. 

“What now?”Crowley asked, turning his head toward Aziraphale, is nose brushing up against a loose curl. The demon breathed in deep, biting back the urge to press a kiss into Aziraphale’s forehead. “Please tell me someone has a plan.”

Remiel looked up at him, her brown eyes shining, hands absentmindedly stroking Dantalion’s hair as it continuously fell down into his face. In that moment, she looked about as exhausted as he felt. They’d both been put through the ringer these past few days. He didn’t have the faintest idea what they should do. Hopefully someone would think of something, preferably sooner rather than later.

“What exactly are we up against?” Anathema asked them, taking charge of the situation.

“Four Archangels and six Dukes of Hell,” Remiel answered immediately. Crowley’s eyebrows immediately shot up.

“Four?” he asked, feeling a sinking feeling in his stomach. “What happened to the last one?”

Remiel grimaced. “I don’t know.” She seemed like she might have been genuinely concerned if she wasn’t so tired. “Barachiel wasn’t with them. He could be anywhere, honestly. Probably got fed up with Gabriel’s ‘holier-than-thou’ attitude and went home when the chaos began.”

There was something in her voice that caught Crowley’s attention. Something that suggested she may not be telling them everything that she knew.

“Or?” He didn’t want to ask, but Crowley felt he had no choice. The sooner they knew what they were dealing with, the sooner they could make a plan that would actually work. One that would actually keep Aziraphale safe.

This time, it wasn’t Remiel who answered, but Anathema. She suddenly turned to look down the path - a path that up until that moment had been completely empty. “Or, he’s about to turn that corner and walk down the path this way.”

Silence fell in between them as they registered what the woman had just said. One of the boys, the one whose name Crowley could never remember, looked up from the picture he was drawing in the dirt. “How do ya know that?”

Pepper scoffed and rolled her eyes. “Honestly, Brian. Pay attention. Anathema is a witch, remember. She knows everything.”

It seemed like a good enough explanation for the other two children. Crowley was suspicious, but said nothing. He didn’t really care how Anathema knew these sorts of things, as long as she continued to keep knowing them and used her knowledge to help them out.

Newton, however, was not satisfied. He gazed down the path, eyes widening as a man appeared. He had no wings, but wore the same sort of white robe as Remiel. From here, Crowley doubted any of the humans could decipher the bearded face and long black hair enough to identify the man, even if they had known what Barachiel had looked like. Still, the timeliness of his appearance and Anathema's statement made the demon uneasy.

“How did you know, Ana?” He asked quietly. She turned in the direction he was looking, brown eyes going large. 

“I had a feeling,” she admitted. “He’s in the park. He knows we’re here. He’s alone. He's making his way to the bandstand”

All of that explained nothing. Crowley had a feeling like he was about to pass out, but that didn’t mean it was sure to happen. It also didn’t explain where here feeling was coming from or why the details associated with it were so special.

They all looked down the path at the approaching angel in confusion. All except Remiel, whose gaze never left Dantalion’s face, a hint of a smile dancing on her lips.

What did she know?

Crowley drew Aziraphale closer to him still, looking down at the concern marring the angel’s perfect face. This was fine. They were fine. What could one Archangel do to them? Even if he discounted the humans, which in Crowley’s opinion would be a colossal mistake, even then, they outnumbered him three to one. If Barachiel caused any trouble at all, they should be able to handle themselves.

“Anything else you’d like to add, Anathema?” the demon asked quietly as eight sets of eyes watched Barachiel divert from the footpath, heading straight in their direction. “Now would be the time.”

She shook her head, almost imperceptibly. That was all she wrote - or in Anathema’s case, all she knew. They wouldn’t be getting any more help. Barachiel was only a few dozen feet away at this point. He had seen them. He’d somehow found them in the midst of all the chaos. What did he want with them? Was he sympathetic to their cause like Remiel was? Was he here to enact his own revenge? Was he secretly leading Gabriel to where their home base was? There was no way to tell. No way but to wait and see what Barachiel did.

Wait and see with bated breath, whether or not Anathema Device was anything like her ancestor. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There you have it! I hope this was somewhat of the reunion you guys wanted. Aziraphale and Crowley still have a lot to talk about, but that's going to have to wait a little bit longer. There are still a few things that need to settle down before they will finally get a moment alone.
> 
> Thanks to everyone who has been with this story from the beginning and those of you who are new. A big shoutout to my loyal readers to provide constant feedback with each chapter that I post. I can't tell you all how much it means to me. Looking forward to hearing from you soon!
> 
> Next chapter should be up sometime tomorrow. I've got midterms this week, so hopefully they won't slow me down too much. I'll do my best to let you guys know if I think there will be any sort of delay.
> 
> Until next time!


	31. Chapter 22

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everyone finds themselves at the bandstand and things go horribly wrong.

Aziraphale watched, hardly daring to breathe as Barachiel approached them. His heart was thudding wildly in his chest, and not just because the angel was currently entwined in the arms of a demon - his demon - the demon that had braved all of Hell to save him. 

As a Principality, Aziraphale had plenty of experience interacting with Gabriel, and by extension Michael, Uriel, and Sandalphon. Those four seemed to take it upon themselves to oversee the other angels, especially those in charge of creating and maintaining the universe they all lived in. Aziraphale fell under Gabriel’s direct supervision, so as much as he disliked the Archangel, he knew a decent bit about him.

Remiel was in charge of ushering deserving souls into Heaven. Aziraphale was almost certain that before today, she’d never even set foot on Earth. What was the point in getting attached to these humans if not all of them made it to Heaven? Aziraphale understood why she operated the way that she did, even though he firmly believed she was missing out on so much.

But Barachiel? Aziraphale knew next to nothing about this particular Archangel. He was the guardian of Prayer - the one who heard them all, considered all the possible ramifications of choosing to answer them or not, and made the ultimate decision. Aziraphale had no idea if he knew personal details about any of the humans he listened to in their hours of need. More importantly, the angel had no idea how Barachiel felt about the end of the world and the botching thereof. 

What was he here for? Was the Archangel here to offer up his help? Was he here to bring Gabriel straight to them? Should they have made a run for it already, or was it better to wait here and see what he had to say?

Too late now. Aziraphale drew closer to Crowley, if that was even at all possible, and watched with wide blue eyes as the white-robed Archangel made his way toward Remiel. Barachiel didn’t stop to acknowledge any of them. Not the angel-demon pair with their arms wrapped around each other. Not the witch and her witchfinder boyfriend. Not the former Antichrist and his childhood friends. Baracheil didn’t seem to notice any of them. He only had eyes for Remiel.

“Hello, Barachiel,” the Archangel murmured softly, her hand coming to rest on the side of Dantalion’s face, caressing the pale skin softly. He looked more pale than normal, not that there was really a normal for the former demon. Since the day he’d fell from Heaven, Dantalion’s natural form had been that of an ever-shifting face, reflecting the likeness of all the humans living above him on Earth.

They should probably try and get him somewhere a little more secure. Somewhere he could lie down and rest. Somewhere that wouldn’t be so disorienting if and when he woke up.

Aziraphale should have just taken Dantalion back to the bookshop. The angel had been worried that his home would be the first place Gabriel would think to look for them, so he’d chosen an alternative meeting location with the idea that they would have a quick chat and be on their way somewhere safer. Unfortunately, things had gotten a bit out of hand and now they were all still here, all ten of them, eleven if you counted Barachiel, and nowhere closer to finding a safe spot where they could hunker down.

Not that a safer location would do much for long. Knowing Gabriel, the Archangel would burn down the entirety of Earth and all its inhabitants just to find them and distribute his righteous judgement.

“Remiel,” Barachiel’s voice was much deeper than Aziraphale had expected it to be. Was this the first time the angel had heard it? He thought back, but his time in Heaven had been so long ago, it would be impossible for him to remember. 

Aziraphale watched in silent wonder as the Archangel slowly fell to his knees in front of Remiel so their eyes were level. He looked down at the sleeping form against her lap and a sad smile appeared on his lips, nearly covered by the neatly trimmed black beard. “What have you done?”

Remiel’s emotional laugh echoed around them and Aziraphale felt another wave of moisture lap at the shore of his eyes. He couldn’t even imagine what she was going through right now. If Gabriel had managed to get his hands on Crowley - if the demon had been first, there would have been no way to save him. Aziraphale would have lost his best friend forever. Sure, Crowley might have lived, probably would have lived, but he wouldn’t have known Aziraphale. He wouldn’t have recognized the angel’s face or remembered any of the six thousand years they had spent together.

He wouldn’t remember all the reasons he loved Aziraphale.

_ He does. Love you, you know? I saw it. _

Dantalion’s previous words echoed around in Aziraphale’s head and the angel’s heart fluttered with anticipation. As important as this moment was between all of them - between Barachiel and Remiel - all Azoraphale wanted to do was miracle himself away with Crowley still wrapped around him. He wanted to ferry the demon off to some remote corner of the world where they could finally be alone. Where he could finally tell Crowley how he felt.

The demon’s arms tightened around him and Aziraphale looked up. Crowley’s sunglasses were still tucked into his front pocket, revealing his shimmering golden eyes. The angel sighed, content for a moment just to gaze up at them. In all of creation, they were the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.

What was Crowley thinking now? What could possibly cause that deep crease on his brow, the white knuckles against Aziraphale’s shoulder? Was he looking down at Dantalion’s unconscious form and imagining something similar? Was he thinking about what could have happened had it really been Aziraphale kneeling in front of Uriel earlier that afternoon?

_ Don’t worry, my dear.  _ Aziraphale gave the demon’s narrow waist a gentle squeeze of assurance. Crowley looked down at him and Aziraphale smiled, heart full of love for the creature beside him.  _ I’m alright. We’re both alright. We’re here, safe, together. I won’t ever leave your side again. I love you. I love you. I love you. _

If only demons could hear the prayers of angels. Aziraphale would have to be patient just a little bit longer. 

“I had to save him,” Remiel was saying, voice thick with emotion, although tears had yet to fall. “Barachiel, you  _ know _ I had to. You understand.”

For the life of him, Aziraphale could not tell if the words coming from her mouth were meant to be a statement or a question. Did Barachiel know who this former demon was? Did he know Dantalion’s relationship with Remiel and why she cared so much? She hadn’t explained much to Aziraphale. In fact, Remiel hadn’t explained anything to him directly. Dantilion had coordinated the entire escape plan, conversing with Remiel and then relaying the information to Aziraphale in his prison cell. There had not once been a moment when the Archangel had directly said she cared for Dantalion in a way angels should not care for demons. Not once.

Aziraphale did not need to hear those words. He could tell, based off his own experience, that there was something going on here. Some story she had not yet told. Perhaps, in time, she would. It was not his place to push her. 

All eyes were on the pair of Archangels, kneeling on the rough concrete of the bandstand, bodies mere inches apart. Aziraphale let out a breath of relief as Barachiel lifted up a hand and placed it gently behind Remiel’s neck, drawing her head to his. Both Archangels closed their eyes as their foreheads touched, gently resting against each other in an intimate gesture of infinite caring and trust.

“Do not be afraid,” Barachiel’s deep voice murmured into the silence that had fallen over them. “You are my sister, Remiel. You will always have a place with us in Heaven.” Aziraphale’s heart warmed at the gentle smile that appeared on Remiel’s face. He assumed Barachiel was sharing a similar expression, although the angel couldn’t see from his current point of view. “This madness ends today.”

He couldn’t believe it. In less than twenty-four hours Aziraphale and Crowley had gone from “our side” with only the two of them to having the full support of not one, but two archangels. Maybe now, Gabriel would see reason. Maybe with a third of his force working against him, he would finally leave them in peace.

“Barachiel,” Remiel began, opening her soft brown eyes once more. If Aziraphale didn’t know better, he would have said that the sound of her voice made it seem like she was about to protest.

“No,” Barachiel cut her off. “I will not allow Heaven to lose another Archangel. Even one was too much for us to bear. It will not happen again.”

In that moment, Aziraphale felt like he was suddenly teetering on a precipice, hovering over a vast pit of the unknown. Another Archangel? Heaven had lost one already? How? When? How had he not heard of this? Surely, even an angel assigned to Earth would have remembered such a tragedy, wouldn’t he?

Before he could gather the courage and ask Barachiel what he meant, Anathema raised her voice in a tone that clearly established they were not out of hot water yet.

“That madness you mentioned?” she began, drawing all attention back on her. Even the children, who up until this point had been silently alternating between listening and drawing pictures in the gravel just outside the bandstand, immediately turned toward the woman. “It’s inbound.”

“Which way?” Remiel asked immediately, panic edging into her voice. Just because Barachiel had made his intentions known did not mean they were safe. All four of the remaining eternal beings could be made very much non-eternal if Gabriel saw fit. Aziraphale felt his stomach twist unpleasantly. He just wanted this nightmare to be over.

“All directions,” the woman answered without hesitation. How did she know? Anathem had said she had a ‘feeling’ but this was hardly good luck or intuition. The woman seemed to have an uncanny knowledge of the situation they had found themselves in. Where was she getting this information? “They have us surrounded and they’re closing in fast.”

A sudden look of understanding flashed in Remiel’s eyes as she looked up and met Anathema’s gaze.

“Amariel!” she all but shouted. Aziraphale noticed that as she said that name, Newton and all the children looked toward her, unable to mask the shock on their faces. Who was Amariel? How did they all know that name and what did that have to do with Anathema? “If something happens to me, you know what to do. Protect the humans. Nothing else matters.”

Anathema did not respond, but Remiel seemed satisfied, nonetheless. She moved to stand, lifting Dantalion in her arms like he weighed little more than a small child. Gently, she motioned to Newton, who was by her side in an instant, grabbing onto Dantalion as she handed him over, turning to face the oncoming threat.

“We still have time!” Crowley hissed beside him. Aziraphale could practically feel the fear buzzing throughout the demon’s entire body. “Let’s get the fuck out of here. Retreat, regroup. Live to fight another day. All that jazz.”

Remiel looked over at the demon and shook her head slowly. “I won’t run from this. Barachiel’s right. This madness ends today.”

Seconds later, the Archangels and Dukes of Hell were upon them. They came from all sides, just as Anathema had warned, Gabriel leading the charge with Uriel and the cursed flaming sword right behind him.

“How nice of you to all gather in one place for us,” the Archangel began. Michael and Sandalphon spread out to his right, cutting off their escape from one side while the Dukes of Hell surrounded them from the other. They were all trapped close to the bandstand, with no way out. Sure, Aziraphale could miracle himself away, but that would require leaving the humans here. At this point, the angel wasn’t sure what Gabriel would or wouldn’t do to them to get the revenge he so desperately wanted. He would not leave them behind.

“Gabriel,” Barachiel’s voice broke through the anxiety laden silence. “I think this little game of yours has gone far enough.”

Violet eyes flashed dangerously as Gabriel turned to look at the other Archangel, jaw visibly clenching. “So, you’ve decided to turn traitor too, have you, Barachiel?”

The bearded Archangel visibly rolled his eyes. A daring move, Aziraphale thought, given the circumstances. “Honestly Gabriel, take a step back and think about what you’re doing here. Is this really what you want? Will this really solve anything?”

“Enough!” Gabriel snarled, an almost feral look to his face. “We all know whose fault this is.” He paused, violet eyes glaring daggers at the space where Crowley and Aziraphale stood. “It is time for them to accept their punishment. Grab them,  _ now _ .”

Chaos erupted around them for a second time that day as the small army of demons and angels lunged forward. Before he could even process what was going on, Aziraphale felt a strong hand wrap itself around his wrist and give a sharp tug. The angel let out a gasp of protest as shouts all around them filled the air. Crowley was ripped from his grasp and Aziraphale turned, struggling against the hands that now gripped him firmly by the shoulders.  _ No! _ This couldn’t be happening. Not again. Not when he’d finally gotten Crowley back.  _ NO! _

He watched with wide-eyed horror as Michael and Hastur lashed out at the demon, tripping him, catching Crowley by his upper arms and dragging him forward to meet Gabriel. Remiel and Barachiel were still underneath the bandstand roof, the former facing off against an enraged Sandalphon as he lunged toward her, arms outstretched to grab at her wings.

A white hot pulse of energy erupted from Remiel’s palm and the other Archangel was thrown backward, crashing into a nearby canister of trash, toppling it over, sending remnants of food and paper and plastic trash scattering all about. Sandalphon clambered to his feet, eyes widening as Remiel soared through the air toward him, knocking the Archangel back once more.

Several shouts of anger arose from the other side of the bandstand. Aziraphale’s head whirled around to find Adam and his friends surrounded by Beelzebub and two other demons he recognized from the trial but whose names he didn’t know. Pepper had apparently just stomped on one of their feet, as the more masculine looking one howled in pain. He lunged at her, but the girl was quick. She ducked underneath of his flailing arms and went to stomp on the other foot, a fierce determination in her deep brown eyes.

The remaining demon had made a move toward Newton, who was still holding Dantalion gently in his arms. Sensing her boyfriend’s immediate peril, Anathema rushed forward to place herself in between the pair. Aziraphale had a sudden desire to run and help them, not sure if the humans had anything they could use against a Duke of Hell. He wished they would have just stayed home. As happy as Aziraphale had been to see them, it wasn’t safe for them here. There was no way he was going to be able to protect them all.

A loud, familiar, scream tore through the air and Aziraphale found his attention snapping back to Gabriel and Uriel. Barachiel was on the ground, hand clutching the back of his head, looking up with shock on his face as Uriel lifted the flaming sword above her head once more. Kneeling on the ground in front of her was Crowey, thrashing wildly, his ebony wings pinned down by both Michael and Hastur. 

From here, Aziraphale couldn’t see the looks on their faces, but he imagined they were filled with a twisted sort of glee.

“No!” the cry echoed from Aziraphale’s throat as he snapped his wings out in one fluid motion, catching Dagon on the jaw and sending the demon reeling. He was free. He was only a few dozen feet away from Crowley. Just a few steps and Aziraphale could reach him. Just a few steps and Crowley would be safe once more. 

Time seemed to slow as the sword rushed toward the ground, toward Crowley’s magnificent, beautiful, enrapturing black wings, and Aziraphale realized with the shattering of his heart that he was too late. He wasn’t going to make it in time. He was going to lose Crowley forever.

Without warning, a loud bang echoed across the skies, speeding time back up to its normal pace. Aziraphale, whose eyes were still fixed on the horrific scene in front of him, stumbled forward as his mind rushed to catch up, to make sense of what his eyes were seeing.

A dark red stain had formed on Uriel’s chest, spreading outward like a blossoming flower. The Archangel’s eyes were blown wide, her brows furrowed together in what appeared to be pain, dark lips hanging open in a soft ‘oh’ as the flaming sword snuffed out and clattered to the ground.

Michael and Hastur had both turned toward the noise, loosening their grip on Crowley just enough for him to break free and stumble backward. Crowley, the brilliant flash-bastard that he was, grabbed onto the hilt of the sword that had fallen by his feet, dragging it with him as he made his way back to Aziraphale’s side.

All motion stopped as Uriel fell to her knees, blood seeping down her shirt, onto her jacket and pants. She remained upright for another heartbeat before slumping onto the ground, the light in her brown eyes fading with one final breath.

Simultaneously, all eyes in the park turned to look where the sound had originated, and stared in shock at the young boy, Brian, holding up a shining silver gun.

No one said a word for nearly ten seconds as they all tried to process what had just happened. Where had Brian gotten a gun? Why had he shot Uriel and, more importantly, why had it worked? Had it worked? Had she been discorporated? Killed? Surely a simple human weapon couldn’t kill an angel. So why was her body still here? Why hadn’t she gotten a new one and returned to the fight? Discorporations usually required a decent bit of paperwork to get a new body, but Uriel was an Archangel. She could bypass the system whenever she saw fit. So why wasn’t she back? What in the world had just happened?

It was the longest ten seconds of Aziraphale’s existence.

“You!” Gabriel roared, advancing on the group of children with blazing violet eyes. Even the demons behind them took a few steps back, afraid of getting caught in the crossfire. A strangled cry echoed in the air, but Aziraphale didn’t turn to look at who it had come from. He was too preoccupied with what was going on right in front of his eyes.

Aziraphale didn’t think, he just acted. With his wings spread wide, ignoring the cry of his demon, Aziraphale snatched the sword from Crowley’s shocked grasp as he hurtled across the graveled path toward the children. The sword once again came alight in his grasp, filling the angel’s body with a flash of heat and strength. He held it high, rounding on Gabriel, sticking it right in the Archangel’s face as Aziraphale placed himself directly in front of the human children.

“No,” Aziraphale’s voice was dark, commanding. In it there was no fear or hesitation. “This has gotten out of hand, Gabriel. They are  _ children _ for Heaven’s sake. We’re supposed to be the good guys. The ones saving them. Not putting them in danger.”

Gabriel glared at him with more hatred than Aziraphale knew an angel could hold in his heart. Still, the presence of the flaming sword and the knowledge of what it could do stopped him from advancing any further. Aziraphale held his ground, blue eyes staring back at the angel that was once his superior.

For the first time, Aziraphale found that he was not afraid.

“Do you realize what just happened?” Gabriel hissed, his face almost unrecognizable through his rage. “Do you understand what that  _ child _ has just done?”

He didn’t, but looking around Aziraphale found that his mind was slowly putting the pieces together. Barachiel was currently kneeling on the ground beside Uriel’s body, pulling her onto his lap as his robe smeared with blood. He was crying, sobbing, his head bowed low, forehead touching her own. Remiel stood at a distance, petite hand covering her mouth, tears falling for the first time all day. Perhaps the first time ever for her.

Aziraphale briefly turned to look at Crowley, wondering if the demon had noticed something he had not. Crowley wasn’t looking back at him. His amber eyes were blown wide, staring at the scene unfurling underneath the bandstand, pain etched in every crevice of his beautiful face. Aziraphale had only seen the demon in this much pain once before, six months ago as he sat at a bar, drinking the end of the world away.

_ Nah, I changed my mind. Stuff happened. I lost my best friend. _

The angel didn’t understand it, and he was almost positive that Crowley didn’t understand it either, but whatever had just happened - Crowley felt it deeply. He’d just lost something infinitely precious to him.

“This ends now.” Aziraphale’s voice was quiet, but it carried to each and every one of them. “You all are going to go back to Heaven and to Hell and you will leave us alone.” A pulse of anger flashed through him and it was all Aziraphale could do not to lunge forward and strike Gabriel where he stood. This was all. His. Fault. If he’d just  _ left them alone _ . That was all he and Crowley had ever wanted. “I don’t want to see any of you here,  _ ever _ again.”

He did not ask if Gabriel understood. Aziraphale didn’t have to. He could see the hatred burning in the Archangel’s eyes. He could see that Gabriel knew he had no ground to stand on. Not now. Not with a dead Archangel behind him and a cursed flaming sword in front of him. He’d been backed into a corner with no way out but to miracle himself home.

“Don’t think I’ll forget this, Aziraphale,” The Archangel growled, taking a step back, his burning violet eyes never leaving Aziraphale’s face. 

Aziraphale kept his attention fixed on Gabriel, his expression never wavering. Earth was his home now, this was his  _ family _ . As much as the angel loathed violence, as much as he hated to fight, Aziraphale knew he would do whatever it took to protect the place and the people he’d grown to love. He was created to be a warrior, the sword in his hand proved that fact. Gabriel would do best not to forget that.

“The sentiment goes both ways, Gabriel.” 

The Archangel sneered then raised his hand. In one fluid motion, the Archangels and Dukes of Hell still following his lead were gone and for the first time since he could remember, Aziraphale felt like he could finally breathe. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, so first, I just want to say that I know you all probably have tons of questions after what just happened and I promise to answer all of them by the time this story is over (Still working out how many chapters there are going to be. Suffice to say, we're nowhere near done yet). So hang tight!
> 
> Second, I'm going to a recruiting event for work tomorrow at a University that is ~2 hours away from where I work, so my normal writing time will be spent driving instead. The next chapter is another interlude, so hypothetically it will be shorter and I'll probably get it done tonight, but if you don't see it posted within the next 12 hours, you'll likely have to wait another day. Sorry!
> 
> Thirdly, I saw this Ineffable Event announcement on Tumblr the other day that is taking place this week (as today is the anniversary of the day Heaven and Earth were created!) and I thought it would be a wonderful idea to participate (because I obviously need to spend more time writing). Each day there's a different prompt and I've decided to write some short one-shots for this event and tie them into this story. Each of the seven days, I will focus on one of the Archangels as they appear in this story, to do a sort of character study and provide a bit of background on them (especially Remiel and Barachiel, since they're my OCs). First up is Uriel, so keep a lookout for that story if you're interested in finding out more about our beloved (or extremely hated) Archangels.
> 
> I'll also post a link to the fic in the next chapter so you guys can get to it there, or you can follow me on tumblr (@braver-stronger-smarter). I should be uploading it in the next few hours.
> 
> Until next time!


	32. Interlude: The Bandstand

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Famine and Pollution are reborn and the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse begin to ride.

At 3:43 in the afternoon, St. James Park was visited by a host of angels and demons unlike which the Earth had ever seen. At 3:44, the park was miraculously empty, save for a handful of humans milling about, oblivious to the tragedy that had occurred at a very unremarkable bandstand just moments ago. Miracles had a way of affecting passerbys like that. An entire war between Heaven and Hell could break out in the middle of the city streets and the population of London wouldn’t realize it was happening until a smouldering Big Ben crumbled into dust and ash. 

At 3:50, precisely seven minutes after the unnoticeable skirmish had ended, two figures emerged from the dust and debris. Just as the humans in the park had missed the death of an Archangel, so too did they miss the rebirth of a man and a woman who were not really human. They came out of nowhere, materializing as a gust of wind blew through the bandstand, lifting a small tornado’s worth of paper and plastic and wasted food scraps. Swirling them around and around in the air, tighter and tighter, sucking the air up and away, creating a vortex of nothing in its wake.

They walked out of the cyclone simultaneously, the man facing East, woman facing West, back to back, eyes fixed off into the distance. The man, with his sunken ink-black eyes and razor sharp teeth. The woman, with her grimy skin and unblinking ice blue gaze, remnants of oil-like tears upon her cheek. Together, they stepped forward and the air behind them stilled, flinging trash and scraps and all sorts of waste about them, like rain in a summer’s storm.

Sighing, the pair closed their eyes and breathed in deep - breathed in the tantalizing scent of hunger and starvation. Of sludge and smog.

Breathed in the refreshing scent of destruction.

Their eyes opened and together they turned toward the wooden structure before them. Once, it was empty. Now, two more figures stood in its shadow, gazing out at them expectantly.

“War,” the man greeted, nodding his head in respect. She was the first of them, after all. Born of violence and blood. A brother’s jealousy turned to rage turned to death and destruction. It only made sense she would be reborn first as well, when it all went pear shaped. “I trust you haven’t been waiting for us long.”

She grinned, catlike and feral. The sight of it sent a thrill through his body.

“Don’t worry, Famine,” she purred. “I’ve been keeping myself busy.”

“Hopefully not too busy,” he responded with equal amounts of delight, taking a few steps toward her. “I wouldn’t want to miss out on all the fun.”

The woman behind him scoffed and Famine turned around, eyebrow raised. Pollution stared back at him, her eyes never blinking. “I’ve had enough fun to last an eternity,” her voice was deadpan, void of any emotion or inflection to indicate how she was feeling. “When do we get back to business?”

“Oh.” If a breath could sound malicious, the noise that escaped War’s lips was truly awe inspiring, “We already are, my dear. And this time, we barely have to lift a finger. They’re going to do it all for us.”

Pollution smiled back. It was a terrifying grimace, tugging upward at the corner of her mouth, revealing perfectly aligned pearly-white teeth surrounded by dripping black tar. Still, her ice blue gaze never wavered. “How wonderful. Shall we get to it then?”

As the question left her lips, three of the four figures turned to find a set of four motorcycles standing up side by side along the path, ready and waiting for them as if they’d been there all along. Without another word, they turned to the last figure, cloaked in starlight, face masked except for a pair of shining blue eyes.

“Where are we going?” The question came from them all and he would answer them all, in time. War may have been born first, by a mere millisecond in time, but they all knew who their true leader was. Humans could do away with War, and Famine, and Pollution, just as they had done away with Pestilence. They had the capability, although their drive was weak. But Death? Death was eternal, just as Life was eternal.

And so, they would follow him until the very end. 

**BACK**

The word ‘back’ could mean many things. It could mean back to Tadfield airbase, where they had been humiliated by a bunch of children. Back to the rivers and oceans that had been sickened with sludge and oil and filth. Back to the streets of the cities where the needy were ignored and millions were rocked to sleep with songs of stabbing, aching pain and dreams of a nice, hot meal. Back to the forgotten desert, where brother turned upon brother, staining the soft sand crimson. ‘Back’ could mean a lot of things, but to them, there was only one logical place they could go. 

**BACK TO WHERE IT ALL BEGAN.**

And so, they rode. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There you go! Sorry today's update doesn't really give you guys any answers. I promise, we'll get back to the main story tomorrow, but I couldn't leave these guys out forever.
> 
> Also, for those of you anxiously awaiting some loving moments between our favorite angel/demon pair, I am hoping you will be quite satisfied with Thursday's chapter (Chapter 24 according to the index and chapter 34 according to A03).
> 
> As promised, here is the companion piece I'm working on this week. It gives a short prompt-based story for each of the Archangels as you find them here in this story. I'm planning to answer a few questions in this collection, but most of the answers will also show up in this story (it just may not be in as many details). Hope you all enjoy!
> 
> https://archiveofourown.org/works/21124295/chapters/50268971
> 
> See you all tomorrow as we get back to Aziraphale, Crowley, and the rest of the gang!


	33. Chapter 23

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everyone returns to Jasmine cottage to talk in peace and Dantalion finally wakes up.

Silence filled the cottage around them, drowning out every thought. Crowley could feel his heart beating rapidly in his chest as he paced across the sitting room floor. After the events at the bandstand they’d all whisked themselves back to Jasmine Cottage, huddling in the small room together, afraid to say anything, as if words would somehow make this whole situation real.

Aziraphale hovered at the edge of his vision, silently watching with shimmering blue eyes as the demon continued his pattern. His hands were folded neatly in front of him, but Crowley could see how they rubbed together in the angel’s white knuckled grip. Aziraphale was nervous. They all were.

The creaking of stairs sounded behind them and Crowley found himself whirling around, stomach in his throat. His eyes blew open wide behind the sunglasses perched on his face as the demon instinctively reached out for Aziraphale’s hand to pull him back - to bring him to safety. 

He paused just before reaching his angel as Remiel came into view, fingertips mere centimeters away from the back of his angel’s hand. Crowley’s amber eyes darted up to her face, tracking the Archangel’s movements as she slipped by Aziraphale and moved to stand in the center of the room to address them all.

Something brushed up against his skin and the demon almost pulled his hand back. Before his mind could comprehend what was happening, Aziraphale’s hand had latched onto his as the angel tucked himself up against Crowley’s side. It was a miracle he didn’t just discorporate then and there, but somehow he managed to hold on. Aziraphale’s reassuring presence and the warmth of his hand interlocked with Crowley’s probably had something to do with it.

“How is he?” Thank  _ someone  _ it was Anathema who asked that question and not Aziraphale. Crowley could tell his angel wanted to know how Dantalion was doing. He could see it in the way Aziraphale’s hands clutched his tightly, hear it in the way the angel’s wide eyes fixed themselves on Remiel, all his attention on her. The thought that Aziraphale might still care about the former demon made him want to cry and scream and punch a hole through the wall. At least he didn’t have to hear that sentiment spoken out loud.

“Asleep,” her voice was weary as she looked down at the humans gathered before her. All four children were still here, gathered quietly on the couch opposite Remiel. Anathema had taken the armchair beside them, her hand resting gently on Brian’s back. He’d yet to say a word since they’d arrived, had barely even looked at anyone, choosing to fix his dark brown gaze on the ancient hardwood floor. “But otherwise unharmed.” 

She turned toward Crowley and Aziraphale, brown eyes resting softly on the angel beside him. “Thank you, for healing him.”  _ After everything he did to you. _ The unspoken rest of her sentence hung in the air around them all. Even the humans, who had missed bits and pieces of their ongoing saga, understood the implications of what the Archangel was saying.

Aziraphale nodded his head and Crowley felt his stomach drop back down when the angel opened his mouth to speak once more. He just  _ knew _ Aziraphale was going to offer up some sentiments of kindness or generosity and he just couldn’t take it. He just  _ couldn’t  _ deal with the thought that his angel might still care for that monster currently sleeping upstairs. It didn’t matter that Dantalion had worked to save them. It didn’t matter if Dantalion had somehow come to care for Aziraphale in all of this madness. None of it mattered because Crowley could have  _ lost _ Aziraphale. He’d lost the angel once and the world had almost ended. He couldn’t go through that again.

“I’ll go up and sit with him for a while,” Aziraphale offered and Crowley’s heart crumbled inside his chest. How was it possible that it still had further to break? Hadn’t it been ripped apart multiple times already? Just today? How could he still feel such sorrow and loss? When would it ever end? “I don’t want him to wake up alone.”

Remiel nodded, ignoring the look of pure fury Crowley shot her way. “Thank you.” She paused, breathing in deeply, the shakiness of the sound betraying her shattering emotions. “I’ll be up to relieve you shortly.”

Crowley felt a gentle squeeze around his hand. Trying not to look too desperate, he turned slowly toward the angel, amber eyes wide, pleading behind his protective wall of black glass.  _ Please don’t go.  _ He willed Aziraphale to understand.  _ Please, angel. I don’t want to lose you to him. Not again. Please, stay with me. _

He said none of those things, the fear of an obvious rejection coming to life in his chest, threatening to suffocate him where he stood. With the protest dying in his throat, Crowley released Aziraphale’s hand and watched as the angel sent him a soft smile and disappeared around the corner and up the stairs.

Only once his footsteps had faded into nothing did Crowley turn back toward the rest of them hovering in the room. Everyone was on the edge of their seats, all eyes fixed on the Archangel in front of them. She had changed out of her robe since they’d arrived, miracling herself into clothes that, surprisingly, looked more like Pepper’s. 

Seeing Remiel clad in baby blue and white striped leggings and an oversized long-sleeved collared shirt was startling, to say the least, but Crowley chose not to dwell on that fact now. There were other, more serious matters at hand.

The silence around them grew more profound as each second ticked by. Crowley looked from Remiel, standing before them with tear stains still evident on her cheeks, to Anathema, brown eyes fixed ahead, hand resting on Brian’s back, comforting, protectin. Newton stood behind his girlfriend, hands hovering on the back of the chair on either side of her head, a grave expression on his face as he waited for someone to speak.

Eventually, it was Brian who broke the silence.

“I’m sorry,” his voice came out as a whisper but seemed to somehow fill the space around them. The hopelessness of the sound shocked Crowley to his core. “I didn’t mean to - I swear. I just - “

In an instant, the demon was on his knees, miracling the coffee table to the other side of the room so there was space for him right in front of the boy. Crowley wrapped his arms around Brian’s thin frame, pulling him into a gentle but firm embrace. 

Memories flooded his mind as he held the boy against his chest. Memories of children crying out in sorrow and pain. Children quietly sobbing as the torrential rain outside their homes grew stronger still. Children screaming as they were ripped away from their families. Children huddling in silence, afraid that if they let out a single sound, they would be discovered and taken away.Never to be seen from again.

“It wasn’t your fault,” he growled, trying to push his anger and frustration back down where it wouldn’t harm the boy further. “Don’t you dare think this was your fault, Brian. Not for a second longer.”

At the sound of his name, Crowley felt a pair of long, thin arms wrap themselves around his torso. Brian let out a sob and buried his face in the demon’s shirt.

“I didn’t mean to do it!” the boy cried and Crowley felt tears pricking at his eyes as hatred flared to life in his heart. Hatred for Gabriel and his fixation on righteous judgement. Hatred for Uriel and her willingness to follow blindly. Hatred for all the Archangels and Dukes of Hell for not leaving them well enough alone. “They had you by the wings and she had that sword,” he gasped, drawing in ragged breaths of air as Crowley rubbed his hand along the boy’s back, trying to mimic the action he’d seen Anathema performing earlier.

“She was going to  _ kill _ you, Mr. Crowley. And I was just so  _ scared. _ And all of a sudden the gun was just there in front of me. It all happened so fast and I - “

“It was self-defense,” Pepper argued, her tone sharp, but not accusatory, as if she were trying to convince Crowley and the rest of the adults in the room that her friend was not at fault here. “You can’t be held responsible if it’s in self-defense.”

Crowley could not see Remiel, as the boy in his arms was occupying most of his attention, but he did hear the sad smile in her voice as she answered the young girl seated before her. “No one here is blaming him, Pepper. His actions today saved Crowley’s life. Potentially all of our lives - at least those of us who have wings to lose.”

The boy sniffled softly upon hearing those words and sat back up. Not sure where to go, Crowley released him and stood back up, awkwardly walking back toward the fireplace where he had been standing originally. Slowly, the demon turned to Adam, who had been unusually quiet throughout this whole ordeal. They all had been quiet, really, but as the former Antichrist, he would have thought the boy might have something to say.

Sensing his gaze, Adam turned to Crowley, hazel eyes clear and bright. “Is she really gone?” he asked. The question struck a chord in Crowley. His mind began to whir to life, the gears grinding as it raced ahead of him.

“Yes,” he breathed, not really understanding how he knew it to be true. Something deep within Crowley’s soul told him the truth. Uriel was not simply discorportated. She was really and truly gone. A part of his soul ached at the thought. “But maybe she doesn’t have to be.”

Now it was his turn to have all eyes in the room on him.

It was a ridiculous thought. But they had changed reality before - well, Adam had. Who was to say the boy couldn’t do it again?

“The bookshop,” Crowley started, knowing he wasn’t making much sense. He needed to backtrack. Needed to give them all some context. “After it burned down. You fixed it. You fixed my Bentley, and I drove it through a literal storm of Hellfire!”

“Yeah,” Adam stated, like this was the sort of thing anyone could do. Like reshaping reality was just another Saturday in his books. “But those were objects. They’re just  _ things,  _ Crowley. Things are a lot easier to convince to change than people are.” 

Crowley frowned. He wasn’t letting go just yet. This was a good idea. It had to be. “But you did manage to change people, didn’t you?” he pointed out, trying to wrack his brain for concrete examples. “You’re telling me you didn’t fix anyone that got hurt on the M25? No one that died when that giant tornado ripped through half of the English countryside? Or what about those poor blokes on the fishing vessels? With the kraken? You didn’t save any of them?”

The boy shrugged. “I just asked the world to go back to the way it was before. It seemed happy enough to follow my suggestion.”

“So?” the demon asked, not understanding why the boy would be so hesitant to try this out. What’s the worst that could happen? “You don’t think Uriel doesn’t want to go back to the way things were before?”

“Uriel can’t want anything, Crowley,” Remiel supplied, quietly, gently, as if speaking any louder might break him. He turned to look at her, not understanding what she was trying to get at. “She’s  _ gone.  _ As in, she doesn’t exist anymore.” The Archangel’s face morphed into a pained grimace. 

“She’s not up in Heaven with the Almighty. Her soul didn’t go to a better place.” Remiel took in a deep, shuddering breath and Crowley felt hope disintegrating within him as the full consequences of what had happened crashed over him like a flood. “We’re built differently than the humans. There is no afterlife for us.” A pause. “She’s just gone.”

The demon narrowed his eyes. “How do you know?” he asked. “How can you be so  _ bloody _ sure, hm?”

“Crowley.” He hated the way she was looking at him. Like he was fragile, about to break. Maybe he was. Maybe all of this - every fucking thing he’d had to endure for weeks had just been too much for him to handle. Maybe he really was falling apart. 

“Don’t you think She would have said something if that wasn’t the case?”

He didn’t have to answer that. He didn’t want to answer that. He  _ couldn’t  _ answer that because doing so would imply that he understood a single  _ goddamn _ piece of this crazy universe. Doing so would be admitting that there  _ was _ an answer and that it somehow made sense and was in some way fair and he refused to admit that. He refused to admit there was any semblance of reason to what they’d all been through - that it was somehow meant to be. That it had been all part of the great ineffable plan. 

This was all just some sort of game to Her. A game he was sick and tired of playing.

“Even if I could have brought her back then,” Adam interrupted in a tone that Crowley did not very much want to hear right now, “I told you before. I don’t have my powers anymore. I gave them away.”

The demon fumed. Why did he always feel so goddamn hopeless? Why did his very existence have to be so difficult? 

He needed Aziraphale. The thought was so sudden - so overwhelming - that it almost brought Crowley to tears. Aziraphale was the only thing that made sense in his messed up life. Aziraphale and his smile, brighter than the sun. Aziraphale and his kindness. Aziraphale and his proper ways and his obsession with classic literature and his love for food. 

In all of this, after everything he had gone through, all he wanted in the whole world was to sit outside on a bench with his angel, just holding Aziraphale’s hand. They didn’t have to do anything else. Just sit there in silence with some kind of sign that would tell him everything was alright. That his angel was here with him. That Aziraphale was safe and here and real.

“Gabriel isn’t going to give up easily,” Remiel ventured after a moment of silence. “We will have to figure out a way to prepare for him when he comes for us.”

“Fuck Gabriel and his army of blind, self-righteous angels. And fuck Hell and all of their twisting, conniving demons.” Crowley took a deep breath and plunged on, aware that he probably shouldn’t be swearing so much in front of children, but so far past the point of caring. “And while we’re at it, fuck The Almighty and Her blasted fucking Plan! You guys do what you want, but I’m done.”

He turned around, trying not to pay too much attention to the way all four of the children’s eyes had shone in the glow of the sitting room’s artificial light. Crowley hadn’t meant to disappoint them, he was just so tired of all this bullshit. This wasn’t the way the world was supposed to work. It couldn’t be. Somewhere, somehow, something had gotten knocked out of place. And as much as he wished things could be different, it wasn’t his job to bloody find the problem and fix it. 

“Don’t worry,” Crowley heard Anathema murmuring to the young charges sitting beside her as the demon made his way up the stairs, not bothering to be very quiet. “He doesn’t mean that. He’s had a trying couple of days, that’s all.”

Part of Crowley had every intention of storming back down there and giving the woman a piece of his mind. How dare she try and interpret how he was feeling? How dare Anathema try to underplay just how much deep shit they were in? Sure, the immediate danger may have passed. They may have the sword now, but who was to say Gabriel didn’t have an entire armory of them up in Heaven? Who was to say he wouldn’t send a legion of angels down to Earth to destroy them and everyone else while they were at it?

This could very well mean  _ actual _ Armageddon. Who was she to suggest he wasn’t serious when he said he was actually done with this whole situation? This whole planet, for that matter.

He was going to grab Aziraphale and they were leaving. They were going to Alpha Centauri this time and there was no one who could stop him. Not even Aziraphale. The angel could complain all he wanted about the significant lack of books and crepes and all manner of other niceties, but at least he’d be safe. At least he and Crowley - 

The demon stopped halfway up the stairs. There were  _ voices _ coming from the bedroom at the end of the hall. How could that be? Barachiel was the only one who hadn’t come back with them. He’d miracled himself and Uriel’s body off to some remote corner of the universe and who knew when they’d see him again. Everyone else was downstairs. Everyone except…

“Dantalion,” Crowley hissed, and he quickly made his way up the rest of the stairs, much quieter this time. Normally, he wouldn’t be all that keen on eavesdropping, but considering what had happened previously between these two, the demon had no issues listening in. Not if what he found out helped keep his angel safe.

“I’m sorry, my dear,” he heard Aziraphale murmur as Crowley approached the door. It was mostly shut, with a tiny sliver of light shining through the vertical crack between the white wood and the doorframe. His angel’s voice was drifting through the opening, soft and gentle, and was that a hint of sadness? Of longing? 

Crowley stepped closer, his ear barely brushing up against the wood that stood between them.

“My heart belongs to someone else.”

The demon’s heart stopped beating. His eyes flew wide behind a layer of black glass as his mind tried to process what he’d just heard. Was it possible? Did Aziraphale just say he didn’t have feelings for Dantalion anymore? And more importantly, that he  _ did _ have feelings for someone else?

Suddenly, Crowley’s throat felt extremely dry. Who the hell was this bastard? Why had Aziraphale never mentioned him? Was it a him, or perhaps a her? That didn’t seem to sit right, although if you asked Crowley, no image of Aziraphale with anyone else sat right with him. Not unless that other person was a very handsome, very snakelike red-haired demon.

“He’s a lucky man,” Crowley heard Dantalion’s voice drift through the opening. The former demon sounded tired, and a bit disappointed, but nothing in his tone suggested he was an immediate threat to Aziraphale.

The angel chuckled, so soft that Crowley barely heard it. “Oh no, dear. I’m the lucky one. He’s a wonderfully kind soul, although he’d never admit to it.”

There was a pause and the demon felt himself teetering over a precipice. He willed Aziraphale to say more, prayed for Dantalion to ask another pressing question. It almost sounded as if….but no, that would be impossible. Wouldn’t it?

“He’s my very best friend.”

Tears pooled in Crowley’s eyes as the heart that had lay as crumbled dust in his chest suddenly flared to life, like a phoenix reborn from the ashes. Did Aziraphale really mean what he had just said? Could Crowley hope against hope that the angel cared for him? That Aziraphale wanted him? That Aziraphale might actually love him?

Slowly, the demon brought his hand to hover over the door, hesitating at the last moment. What if he had misunderstood? What if he ruined everything by asking? Wouldn’t it be better to wait? Surely, if Aziraphale’s feelings were true, he would say something to Crowley about it. If the demon just waited a bit longer, another few decades or so - if they made it that long - maybe his angel would come and talk to him about how he felt.

No. He had to do this. He had to confront Aziraphale. Talk to him. Ask him exactly what the angel had meant by what he’d just said. Crowley had to know. It would kill him, now, if he tried to forget. If he didn’t do all he could to find out. 

Taking a deep breath, Crowley brought his fist forward and knocked on the door. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the short chapter yesterday, guys. It was one crazy day. I hope this one (and the short hint at the end for what is on the table for tomorrow) helps make it up to you all.
> 
> Tomorrow will be almost entirely fluff. I hope you all are ready for it.


	34. Chapter 24

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley and Aziraphale finally sit down and talk.

The room was dark when Aziraphale entered. 

He supposed Remiel had drawn the blinds shut to give Dantalion a better environment to rest in. From what he could tell, darkness was more conducive to resting, although the angel had never actually tried it out for himself before. He wasn’t particularly fond of the dark. While Aziraphale’s eyesight was good enough to see with minimal light, it certainly made reading harder for him. At home, the angel tended to keep at least one lamp in the bookshop on at all times, although it was mostly one in the back. He had learned, through trial and error, that if people saw a light on inside a building, they automatically assumed it was open for business no matter what the sign or clearly posted times stated.

It probably wouldn’t hurt to open the blinds a little bit. Not the ones across the room from him that would spill light onto Dantalion’s face, but perhaps the one next to the bed. The once-demon was laying on his back, head turned in the other direction. Surely a little bit of light from this side of the room wouldn't bother him.

Aziraphale made his way quietly over to the window and tugged on the side of each of the navy blue curtains, pulling them apart just a little bit in order to let that inch or two of light spill in. Glancing over his shoulder, he saw that Dantalion had not moved. The gentle rising and falling of the blankets covering his chest were the only indication that he was even still alive.

Now that his wings had been severed, now that he was likely mortal, Dantalion had reverted back to the likeness he had used when pretending to be human. As he pulled up a chair to sit beside the bed, Aziraphale wondered why that was the case. When Dantalion had lost his powers, did he make the ultimate decision of what he wanted to look like? Did his body revert back to Thomas’ form because it was the most familiar one? Did Thomas’ previous connection with Aziraphale have anything to do with it? The thought that Dantalion may have turned into Thomas in his final moments of consciousness worried the angel. When he really and truly thought about it, Aziraphale found that he did care about this...man lying before him. But he was not in love with Dantalion, or Thomas, or whoever he was now. Dantalion may have messed around with his emotions, but even after all he’d been through these past few weeks, one thing was absolutely clear.

Aziraphale loved Crowley. Aziraphale was  _ in love _ with Crowley. And not in the ‘I’m an angel, I love all of creation’ sort of way. He loved Crowley in a very human, very romantic sort of way.

The angel bit his lip. How much longer would it be until things settled down? How much longer before he and Crowley could go back home to the bookshop? Aziraphale wanted to sit down and have an honest talk with the demon - to finally tell Crowley out in the open how he felt. But there were just so many of them here. It felt like finding a secluded area to talk would be impossible.

Quietly, the angel sighed, turning his attention back to Dan - Thomas’ face. He really needed to start thinking of the former demon as a human. Based off what the demon had told him before, using the sword in that way was meant to turn an angel or demon mortal. Thomas would no longer be Dantalion when he woke up. He would be a human man that likely had suffered tremendous amounts of memory loss.

All evidence of Heaven and Hell would be wiped from his mind. Considering he’d only come to Earth over the last several months, there wouldn’t be much for him to remember. Would Thomas remember anything at all? Would he remember the time spent with Aziraphale, or would that be wiped away too?

Movement caught Aziraphale’s eye and the angel looked up. Thomas had shifted as he slept, his head now turning toward the angel sitting beside him. A single lock of brown hair had fallen across his forehead between his eyes. Without thinking, Aziraphale leaned forward to brush it away, fingertips dancing across the human’s skin.

Thomas took a deep breath and his eyes fluttered open.

Aziraphale’s heart stilled. Breath freezing in his lungs. Watching. Waiting to see what would happen. Waiting to hear what the man might say.

“Hullo,” Thomas’ voice murmured sleepily as he gazed over at Aziraphale. The angel quickly drew his hand back, a faint blush rising to his cheeks. He’d gone and done it now. After he’d  _ just _ thought about how he didn’t have feelings for Thomas, Aziraphale had gone and done something that made it  _ look _ like he might. And if Thomas did not remember him from before, he was certainly going to remember him now.

“Oh,” the angel breathed, offering the man a gentle smile. “You’re awake. How are you feeling?”

Thomas frowned, momentarily, his grey eyes never once leaving Aziraphale’s face. “Ok, I supposed. I feel a little woozy. And my whole body aches. What happened? Am I sick?”

Overall, things could have been much worse. Aziraphale supposed he should be thankful for that.

His eyes widened even further as the reality of his situation began to sink in. “I - I can’t remember. Where am I? Did something happen? I don’t know -”

Against his better judgement, Aziraphale reached out a steadying hand and placed it gently on Thomas’ arm. “Take a deep breath,” he commanded and was relieved when the man did as the angel asked. “Let’s start with a simple question. What is your name?”

“Thomas,” the man answered immediately. “Thomas Alby. I think.” He paused, but only for a moment. “It sounds right, anyway.”

Aziraphale nodded his head, heart twinging with sympathy at the relief that shone through on Thomas’ face, just at the simple fact of remembering his false name. Tears flooded the angel’s eyes as he thought about how awful it must be to forget everything about yourself. This had almost been him. Thomas had sacrificed his memory to save Aziraphale from this exact fate.

“Do you remember anything else?” the angel asked cautiously. “It doesn’t have to be anything big. Something as simple as your favorite color. A song you really like. Your favorite place to go or something you like to do.”

Thomas frowned, his brow furrowing in concentration. Slowly, he looked away, focusing his gaze on another part of the room, as if the changing scenery might spark something in his mind.

“I like to paint,” he said eventually, surprising Aziraphale. Out of all his six thousand years of experiences, it was interesting that Thomas would remember that tidbit of information. When the angel had discovered who Thomas really was, he’d assumed everything about his life on Earth had been a lie. Perhaps those paintings hadn’t been miracled like he’d originally thought. Or perhaps the curse that had ripped his memories from him had left such a gaping hole in Thomas’ mind that he’d filled it the best way he could.

Aziraphale smiled, encouragingly. “You do,” he said earnestly, thinking of all the wonderful landscapes he’d seen the first day they met. “And you’re rather good at it, in my opinion.”

This tugged a smile onto Thomas’ lips. He looked back over at Aziraphale, eyes shimmering with tears. The angel’s heart ached at the sight.

“I’m sorry,” the man breathed, voice much quieter than before. “You feel so familiar to me, but I can’t remember your name.”

Another smile, this time much sadder. “That’s alright, dear boy. You’ve been through a lot. I don’t expect you to remember everything right away. These things take time. Be patient with yourself, and things will get better.”

Something about what he’d said must have struck a chord with Thomas, because a hopeful smile suddenly made its way onto the man’s face.

“Are you -?” he asked, barely able to contain his excitement. Aziraphale felt a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. “Are we - I mean, I wouldn’t want to presume anything, but you are here, with me, and all. Does that mean -?” He looked at Aziraphale with glistening grey eyes. The angel could almost hear the silent prayer he must be shouting in his mind.

“Are we together? Are you mine?”

Sighing, the angel slowly shook his head, his stomach twisting its way into knots as Thomas’ face instantly fell. 

“I’m sorry, my dear,” his voice was soft, gentle. As comforting as he could possibly make it. Aziraphale had no idea if Thomas still had residual feelings for him. By the devastated look on the man’s face, it appeared he might, even if he didn’t remember Aziraphale’s name. “My heart belongs to someone else.”

It felt strange, speaking his most closely held secret aloud to a human who was once a demon. He’d already told Thomas this once, in a holding cell buried in the depths of Hell, but this time was different. This time, he couldn’t explain to the man why Crowley meant so much to him. He couldn’t dive into their history, couldn’t explain how they’d had to hide their relationship for so long because Heaven and Hell would punish them if they ever found out. 

Thomas didn’t know anything about Heaven or Hell. He didn’t know anything about angels or demons or the six thousand year history of the world. Without that, how was Aziraphale ever to explain? 

“He’s a lucky man,” the soft smile in Thomas’ voice pulled Aziraphale from his musings. Quickly, the angel shook his head. 

“Oh no, dear. I’m the lucky one. He’s a wonderfully kind soul, although he’d never admit to it.” It was true. Crowley may be a demon. He may know exactly how to get under people’s skin and annoy them to no end. He may take joy in things like taking down all the cell towers in the greater London area, but at his core, Crowley had some good in him.

Crowley, the demon who questioned God as she planned to drown hundreds of thousands of children. Crowley, the demon who broke into the Bastille to free a captive angel. Crowley, the demon who used his own powers to save a bag of books from utter destruction simply because he understood how much they meant to Aziraphale.

The angel smiled. “He’s my very best friend.”

He would have said more - Aziraphale wanted to say more, wanted to shout his feelings from the rooftops so that all of London could hear. He could sit here and talk for hours about Crowley to Thomas if he would listen. Anytime the demon entered his mind, it was all Aziraphale could do to keep from grinning like a complete idiot.

Unfortunately, he was abruptly cut off by a quiet knock on the door.

Both heads turned toward the sound. “Come in,” Aziraphale called quietly, fully expecting Remiel to push open the door. The angel shifted in his chair, planning to rise to his feet as she entered to give her his spot by Thomas’ side. He paused when a familiar red-headed figure poked his head through the door.

Heat rushed to Aziraphale’s cheeks as he took in Crowley’s stance. Eyebrows high, indicating eyes blown wide with shock, face filled with barely suppressed emotion. His hand rested against the doorframe, white knuckled grip nearly blinding. The free hand by his side was trembling slightly and the demon’s chest was rising and falling at a much more rapid pace than usual.

_ How much had he heard? _

How long had Crowley been standing at that door, listening? If he’d hear anything said in the last minute or two, the demon would know exactly how Aziraphale felt about him. Based on the way he was hovering just outside the door, the angel suspected this was the case.

“Hey, angel,” Crowley’s voice wavered and the sound just about confirmed Aziraphale’s suspicions. Crowley knew. Crowley knew that Aziraphale loved him.

Oh, this was not how this conversation was supposed to go. It was supposed to be romantic - poetic. He was supposed to take Crowley by the hand and lead him to some special place that the two would remember for another six thousand years. Crowley wasn’t supposed to find out by listening to Aziraphale confess to a former demon, of all beings.

“Excuse me one moment, Thomas,” Aziraphale whispered, barely daring to breathe as his gaze locked with Crowley’s and he found that he could not look away. “I’ll send someone else up here to help explain what happened.”

Faster than he’d ever moved in his life, Aziraphale strode across the room, practically pushing the demon out the door before he shut it quickly behind him.

Only once they were outside the room did Aziraphale notice the glaring error in his plan. While the angel had moved to get himself away from Thomas so they could talk with a bit of privacy, the demon had not. Once the familiar click of the shutting door reached his ears, Aziraphale looked up to find Crowley’s face inches away from his own. The sunglasses were gone and bright amber eyes gazed down at him, shining with an infinite amount of unspoken emotion. Just the sight of him so close, so open and vulnerable, made Aziraphale weak in his knees.

“Did you mean it?” The question came out like a whisper - a closely guarded prayer. 

Oh dear. He had really fudged this one up, hadn’t he? Hopefully once the angel sat Crowley down to explain, he would find it in his heart to forgive Aziraphale for being an utter moron.

Crowley’s eyes went wide and Aziraphale could see the tears pooling against his bottom eyelid. Panic entered him. Had he said that out loud? He had, hadn’t he? What was Crowley thinking now? Did he think Aziraphale hadn’t meant what he said earlier? Did he believe this was all one big misunderstanding? The pain on his demon’s face made the angel want to cry. He had to fix this  _ now. _ Waiting for the right moment was no longer an option.

“Crowley, dear,” Aziraphale murmured, aware that Thomas might still be able to hear them from inside the room. Slowly, he reached down to grab onto Crowley’s hand, afraid the demon might try to retreat if he didn’t. The moment their hands touched, Crowley interlaced their fingers and squeezed, causing Aziraphale’s breath to catch in his throat as his heart took off like a runner during a marathon.

“Meet me outside? I’ve something very important I need to discuss with you.”

“Outside?” Crowley looked hesitant, and Aziraphale couldn’t blame him. The last time they’d hovered on this cliff, about to jump off into the unknown together, Aziraphale had gone inside and Crowley had driven home and the next thing they knew they were fighting against all of Hell to be back by each other’s side. He could understand how his friend might be hesitant to let Aziraphale out of his sight.

“Yes, dear,” Aziraphale murmured, offering the demon’s hand a gentle squeeze that he hoped was reassuring. “I just need to nip downstairs real quick and let Remiel know that he’s awake. I won’t be more than a few seconds, I swear.”

The look of sincerity on Aziraphale’s face must have been enough to convince him, because with one final squeeze and a hesitant smile, Crowley released his hand and in the blink of an eye, he was gone. 

Straightening his vest, Aziraphale miracled himself downstairs where Anathema and Newton were busy passing out snacks to the four children seated on the couch. Remiel was still standing at the front of the room, arms crossed over her chest, staring into the ashen fireplace, obviously lost in thought.

She looked up when he appeared beside her, startled at first, that quickly turned to outrage.

“Are you out of your mind?” She hissed at him, nostrils flaring, eyes wide. “Did you just miracle yourself down here from his room? What if he saw you? Do you understand how delicate his situation is right now?”

Aziraphale smiled, despite the stern tone in her voice. It warmed his heart to think someone cared about Thomas so much - and an Archangel, at that. He still didn’t understand the nature of their relationship, and based on the brief conversation he had with Dantalion back in Hell, the former demon didn’t seem to know her all that well. Still, he trusted that Remiel had only the man’s best interests at heart. That knowledge brought the angel a great deal of comfort.

“I was in the hallway outside his room. The door was closed. He didn’t see anything.” Then, before she could protest further, he mentioned, “He’s awake.”

Remiel was moving toward the stairs in an instant, her small hands clutching at the lengthy sleeves that reached all the way to the edge of her fingertips. After shooting Anathema a soft smile, meeting her all-knowing gaze, the angel disappeared as well, materializing outside in the cottage’s backyard. 

It was a quaint little grassy area, with a white picket fence and overgrown shrubs. There were a pair of cushioned patio chairs sitting by the back door on top of a concrete slab. On either side of the door stood two waist high stone walls, creating a barrier between the patio and the yard beyond, where two medium-sized weeping willow trees stood proudly in the evening light.

On one of these walls sat a demon, with shoulder-length red hair and the most beautiful amber eyes Aziraphale had ever seen.

Crowley looked up at him as the angel took a seat on the wall, his leg barely brushing up against Crowleys, testing the water. Trying to gauge how his friend might be feeling. The demon did not pull away. 

They were silent for a while as Aziraphale struggled with how to begin. How did a person, or an angel, for that matter, go about telling their best friend - a demon - that they were hopelessly in love with them? That they had been in love with said friend for decades but couldn’t ever say anything about how they felt because doing so would put the demon’s very existence in danger? How did he go about putting words to this unspoken thing that was between them, this  _ thing _ that, quite frankly, had been around since Eden?

“Did you mean it?” Crowley asked again, the hope blindingly evident in his voice. Aziraphale’s blue eyes flicked down to the demon’s hands, folded carefully in his lap, knuckles turned white with the strength of his grip.

Smiling, looking directly into Crowley’s eyes, Aziraphale reached across the invisible line between them and took the demon’s hand, trying his best to ignore the incessant stuttering of his heart.

“Crowley, my dear,” the words were soft, spoken for only his friend to hear. “My  _ dearest. _ Of course I meant it. Every word you heard.” He didn’t know exactly how much the demon had overheard, but whatever it was, everything Aziraphale had said was absolutely true.

The demon’s eyes glistened with tears as he gazed over at Aziraphale’s face, one hand interlocked with the angel’s the other resting gently on his own lap. “How long have you, uh - how long have you felt this way?”

Aziraphale felt a small smile appear on his lips as he thought back. Back to the church and the bombs falling from the sky like rain. Back to the rubble and debris and bag full of unharmed books and the way his heart had soared in his chest as Crowley had given him a soft smile and walked away.

“You saved my books,” Aziraphale answered, knowing that Crowley would understand exactly which moment he was referring to. “And I knew then that I loved you. That I had loved you for so long and that I had been a fool not to have seen it sooner.”

Amber eyes went wide. “You love me?” The cautious hope that filled the air around them was almost enough to break Aziraphale’s heart. Crowley shouldn’t ever have to feel this way. Shouldn’t ever feel like he had to hold himself back for fear that he would scare Aziraphale off. Crowley had him, heart and soul. Aziraphale wasn’t going anywhere ever again.

Reaching down for the other hand, the angel slowly brought it to cup the side of his cheek. He could see the shallow breaths as Crowley’s chest rose and fell, feel the rapid beating of his own heart as heat coursed through his entire body, setting every molecule on fire. When the demon did not pull away, Aziraphale continued.

“I love you with everything that I am, Crowley, my  _ dearest _ Crowley,” Aziraphale explained, trying his best to put words to every emotion that was currently coursing through his body. “You have been so patient with me. I am so sorry for how long it took me to realize how much our friendship means to me, and how much longer it took me to voice that realization. I hope you can forgive me.”

“There’s nothing to forgive, angel,” the demon murmured, but something in his voice caught Aziraphale’s attention. It sounded almost disappointed, like up until that moment, Crowley had been drifting upward on a draft of hope and anticipation and had suddenly started gently floating back down to reality. What had gone wrong? What had Aziraphale said that went against what the demon was wishing for?

Thinking back, he had a pretty good idea what it might have been. There was only one thing he could think of to do that would get Crowley to finally understand.

So, without trumpets or fanfare. Without a spotlight or poem or sonnet of any kind, Aziraphale leaned in and pressed their lips together. 

The kiss was soft and warm and filled the angel with a swell of emotion that overflowed from him. His heart was practically glowing in his chest. There were tears pooling in his eyes and if the angel had bothered to keep them open, he would have noticed that the colors surrounding them instantly became ten times brighter. He sighed with contentment as Crowley did not immediately pull away and slowly lifted his free hand to cup the demon’s cheek, brushing his thumb across the soft. pale skin.

After a heartbeat’s hesitation, Crowley leaned into the kiss. His lips parted and Aziraphale could feel the demons’ tongue brushing up against his bottom lip, bringing forth a very un-angelic moan from deep in his throat. A shockwave of electricity flooded the angel as every part of his body that was currently touching Crowley - his hand, his lips, the side of his leg - erupted in a rush of tingling sensations, burning against his skin in a way Aziraphale never wanted to end.

He shifted closer so his leg was pressed firmly into Crowley’s, so there was no more room for misinterpretation. No more guessing. No more wondering. This was how he felt and he would not hide it any longer. Without realizing it, the angel’s fingers had stretched themselves out and gotten tangled in the base of the demon’s gorgeous red hair. Aziraphale tugged gently, pressing himself even closer to Crowley and was surprised at the very obvious shudder of pleasure that passed through his friend’s corporation. 

“Angel,” Crowley breathed, moaned against his mouth and Aziraphale smiled as they broke away. Before he could say another word or move in for a second kiss, the angel began to speak. 

“I love you, Crowley,” Aziraphale repeated fiercely, pressing their foreheads together, opening his eyes to gaze into those amber orbs he loved so much. He could sit here and stare at them for hours. “You are my very best friend, but you are so much  _ more _ to me than just that. I need you to understand that. I love you. More than just in the angelic way.”

“I love you too, angel,” the demon cried, his face crumpling, overwhelmed with emotion. He leaned in for another kiss that Aziraphale was all too happy to give to him. He would happily spend the rest of his time alive giving and giving to the demon. Anything Crowley wanted was his. Everything the angel had to give he would give freely to his demon, his friend, his  _ love. _ “I love you so goddamn much. For ssso long.”

A hiss had slipped into the demon’s words, signalling just how far gone he was. Revealing to Aziraphale just how much the angel was affecting him. How had Aziraphale never done this before? Why had he waited so long to confess how he felt when all along they could have had _this_?

“I know, love,” Aziraphale murmured, bestowing upon Crowley another kiss, relishing in the way the demon momentarily forgot how to breathe. “I know. I am truly sorry I waited so long. I just - “

Crowley cut him off with another kiss - fierce, with gasping breath and roaming tongue and a gentle heat that took Aziraphale’s breath away. He closed his eyes once more and leaned into the kiss, wishing there was a way to get even closer. He wanted to touch Crowley’s skin. Wanted to feel the demon’s hands on him - on his face, on his neck, on his arms and torso. On his  _ wings _ . He wanted to feel Crowley everywhere. Wanted the demon’s soul to fill every crack and crevice of his own until they were no longer separate beings. Until they could never be parted again.

“Doesn’t matter,” the demon breathed, finally pulling away. Aziraphale opened his eyes once more and his heart soared to find Crowley beaming back at him, not a trace of doubt or fear in his eyes. “You’re here now. ‘S worth the wait, angel. I would have waited for you forever.” 

Aziraphale beamed. He couldn’t remember a time in his six thousand years on Earth when he’d ever been happier than this moment, right here. 

“You don’t have to,” the angel assured him, moving his arms so they were wrapped around Crowley’s torso, drawing them into a warm, comforting hug. The love that he felt for this demon continued to pour out of him and Aziraphale hoped that, somehow, Crowley was able to feel it. To know once and for all, without a doubt, how much Aziraphale cherished him.“I’m with you, my dear. All that I have to give is yours. Now and for the rest of eternity.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well...there you have it! I hope this was everything you guys were hoping it would be. I'd love to hear your thoughts on how this chapter turned out. I've been writing this fic for just over a month, so I know you guys have been waiting a while for this moment. Hopefully, it did not disappoint.
> 
> Up next, we're going to check in on Brian and the rest of the gang to figure out what the hell actually happened with Uriel. Hopefully, all will be explained tomorrow.
> 
> Until then, I hope you all have a spectacular day!


	35. Interlude: The Them

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Them discover some interesting information about themselves.

“So,” Pepper pressed once they were alone. “How did you do it?” She looked at Adam expectantly, waiting for him to gather them all around and whisper in hushed toned just exactly how he’d manifested that gun so one of them could use it against the angels. Brian had seemed confused as to what had happened earlier, but the girl had been right there. She’d seen the gun materialize out of nowhere during their moment of need. There could be only one explanation.

It had been a bit dramatic, if you asked her. Adam choosing to wait until the last possible moment – until their hearts were all screaming for someone to save them. There was no reason he couldn’t have taken that angel out the moment they all showed up, before the fighting started. Before those demon’s filthy hands had grabbed onto her arm and yanked her backward and tossed her to the gravely walkway. She wrinkled her nose at the memory, still smelling their pungent scent in her nostrils.

Still, it had been kind of fun to fight them off. Even more fun than the Apocalypse had been. Maybe Adam’s decision to wait wasn’t all that bad.

The boy stared back at her from his spot on the couch. At this point, everyone else had left. Anathema and Newton were in the kitchen, trying to figure out what food they could throw together to feed themselves plus four children, two angels, a demon, and a demon-that-wasn’t-a-demon. Crowley and Aziraphale had teleported themselves outside to talk, and Remiel was upstairs watching over the other guy. Pepper was still a bit unclear what had happened with him. He’d been unconscious when their group had run into the eternal beings and no one had bothered to explain how he’d came to be that way. She supposed it had something to do with that angry angel with the purple eyes, but it was impossible to be sure.

“I didn’t do anything, Pepper,” Adam claimed and the girl gave him a look, lowering her chin and raising her eyebrows in disbelief. Really? This was the game he was going to play? Feign innocence so that the adults didn’t know he had his powers back.

Fine. If that was what he wanted, she could play his game.

“Alright.” She sat back in the chair, crossing her arms, a tiny smirk finding its way onto her face.

“I’m serious, Pepper,” Adam insisted, glancing back at both Brian and Wensley. The other boys were also gazing at him expectantly, waiting for some sort of answer. “It wasn’t me.”

“How is that possible?” Wenselydale asked, reaching a hand up to adjust his glasses. “I was standing right there. The gun materialized out of nowhere. Who else could have done it?”

Pepper shot Adam a look. _See, I told you so_, she wanted to say, but held it back. She couldn’t understand why Adam would be so insistent that he didn’t have anything to do with the gun when there was no one around them to hear about it. It wasn’t like he was going to get in trouble for it. He was the former-Antichrist. Pepper wasn’t sure he could get in trouble for anything unless someone told Mr. Young about all this.

She hoped none of the adults were going to tell their parents. Pepper didn’t fancy getting grounded for a month for something as nonsensical as ‘aiding and abetting the murder of an angel’. Not that she thought her mother would believe a bunch of strangers, anyway. But it never hurt to be too sure.

“Do you think it could have been me who did it?” Brian asked quietly and Pepper laughed, drawing her legs up into the chair in a criss-crossed pattern. He looked a bit hurt at her open mocking, but the girl couldn’t help herself.

“You?” she asked, trying to keep a straight face. “Brian, I thought we talked about this. It was self-defense. Even that other angel lady said it wasn’t your fault.”

The boy shook his head quickly. “No,” he pressed as Pepper opened her mouth to argue. She frowned, folding her arms over her chest once more, but after a stern look from Adam, begrudgingly let him continue. “I meant the summoning of the gun.”

“How could you have done that?” Wensley asked curiously. Pepper rolled her eyes. Always looking for the facts, this one. By now, Wensleydale should have realized that sometimes, there were things in life that just didn’t have an explanation.

Brian looked at a loss for words. Pepper huffed and turned back toward Adam, wishing he’d just fess up. She was tired of all of this craziness. The Apocalypse had been fine – they really hadn’t even had to do anything to save the world and not once did she feel like her life had been in any danger.

Now, however? They’d been physically attacked by actual demons. Angels had come down from Heaven wielding their sword and their righteous fury. And if what Adam said was really true about his powers, they could be in legitimate trouble. She did not like how that thought made her feel. Not one bit.

“I’m not sure,” Brian began, finally finding his voice. “We were just standing there and she had that sword and I just _knew_ she was going to do something awful to Mr. Crowley and there was nothing we could do.” Pepper brought her knee up to her chest, tucking it under her chin as she leaned forward a bit, eyes trained on her friend.

“I just remember thinking, ‘if only we had a way to fight back’,” Brian admitted. Something about the way he said that statement struck a chord inside Pepper. She remembered feeling that way too. Feeling so overwhelmed with terror and despair and wishing more than anything there was something they could do to save the day once more.

“I imagined the gun,” Wensleydale breathed, barely more than a whisper, as if he’d just made the realization. All eyes fell on him. Pepper froze in her chair, eyes widening as her friend continued to speak. “Everything happened so quickly, and there was no way for us to reach them in time to make a difference. Not unless we had a gun.”

A beat of silence. Then Adam spoke. “I imagined you shooting her,” he admitted, turning to Brian. “Once the gun was in your hand, I remember picturing her falling to the ground and dropping the sword before Crowley got hurt.”

What…was….happening? This couldn’t be what Pepper thought it was, could it? Surely Adam would have said something, if this were really the case. Surely, he would have known, but the shocked look in his hazel eyes said something completely different.

“Adam…” the girl said slowly. “You said before that you gave your powers away.” She paused, mouth suddenly very dry. “Who did you give them to, exactly?”

“I didn’t,” he answered almost immediately, but for the first time, the former Antichrist seemed unsure of his response. “I just, sort of, let it flow out of me.”

Silence fell around them again as the Them looked back and forth at each other, waiting for someone to say something. Waiting for the voice of reason to emerge and explain how this was a ridiculous idea and how they were all simply foolish children for thinking it might be true.

“We could…test it?” Wensleydale suggested, looking around to see if the others were in agreeance. “Try and make something silly appear. Like a balloon. Or a bouncy ball. Or – “

“A rubber duck,” Adam interrupted. Pepper lowered her feet to the floor, placing her hands on her black and white striped knees, feeling her heart starting to beat wildly in her chest. “On the count of three, we are all going to imagine a simple yellow rubber duck sitting on the center of that table.” He gestured over to the coffee table that had been placed back in front of the couch before them. Pepper licked her lips and nodded her head, feeling a rush of adrenaline through her body.

Silently, she closed her eyes.

“One.”

She imagined the rubber duck as if it was right in front of her. Pictured its bright yellow rubbery exterior. Pictured how cool it would be to the touch. How light it would feel in the palm of her hand.

“Two.”

She imagined how the lamplight in the room would cast shadows on the table around the duck. Imagined how its orange bill would be pointed outward toward Adam, black and white plastic eyes staring him down. Thought about how it would bob and float about in the water when placed in a bathtub.

They could do this. It would work. And when it did, they could bring that angel back. And everything would be alright again. And they could go back to making up games to play in the woods. They wouldn’t have to worry about angels or demons or anything else. They could go back to the way things had always been. Just the four of them.

“Three.”

As soon as that word left Adam’s lips, Pepper’s eyes flew open. Sitting there in front of all of them was a single yellow rubber duck.

“Holy shit,” Adam breathed, then slapped his hands across his mouth out of habit. His eyes glanced around, looking for the adult who would pop out of the woodwork and scold him for such language. After a moment, they realized no one was coming. No one was here to see them and the wondrously impossible thing they had just done.

“Anathema…” Brian called out hesitantly, eyeing the duck with a wary eye. Pepper shot the boy a look, but he hardly noticed her. Why did he have to go on and involve the adults? This was _their_ ability. Their special powers. It should be kept between only Them.

Less than a minute later, Anathema popped her head through the doorway, looking at them with a curious expression. She must have immediately sensed the tension around them, because the woman quickly called to Newton, saying she’d be right back, before joining them in the sitting room.

“Same as before?” Wensleydale asked, surprisingly calm about this whole thing. Pepper’s eyes narrowed as the wheels in her head began to turn. How far could they push this? What else could they do with their powers combined?

“Purple this time,” the girl requested. All three sets of eyes turned toward her. “The same color as Anathema’s dress.”

The woman looked down, perplexed, but the children did not elaborate. It would be more fun if Anathema saw for herself what they had just discovered, rather than them taking the time to explain.

This time, Pepper kept her eyes open. She pictured a twin duck, same size and shape as the last one, with the same bright orange bill and a full, deep purple body. Adam counted them down and as his lips formed the word ‘three’ a second duck was suddenly sitting on the coffee table, immediately beside the first.

Brown eyes went wide as silence fell upon them all.

“How did you - ?” Anathema broke off, eyes flicking back and forth between them all, eyebrows raised in shock.

“Adam wasn’t lying when he said he gave his powers away,” Brian explained. The tension in the air was palpable.

Pepper watched as something akin to understanding flickered across Anathema’s face. She turned to look at each of them individually, taking in each of their serious expressions. Finally, the witch’s gaze landed on Pepper.

“He gave them to all of us.”

Anathema was at a loss for words. Frankly, so was Pepper. Did this mean she was part Antichrist now? Was she a superhero? Could she fly? What else did these powers let her do, and why hadn’t she felt any different six months ago when she’d first been given them?

“Don’t you see, Anathema,” Brian said, excited. Pepper smiled, glad that he was no longer worrying about the thing he’d done, that he was focusing on what he could do instead. “Crowley was right! We can use our powers to bring that angel back!”

The witch held up a hand, immediately shutting them down. Pepper was about to open her mouth to argue when Anathema opened her eyes and looked directly down at the girl with a stern gaze. “Absolutely not. You do not enter the Tour de France the day after you learn how to ride a bike.”

“But Anathema!” Pepper protested. Why wasn’t she excited about what they had discovered? They had superpowers, for crying out loud! Why wouldn’t she just take a moment to think about what could be done with them?

“Pepper.’ The sound of her name caused the sound to stop in the girl’s throat. Anathema heaved a heavy sigh and moved to sit at the edge of the table, shifting both ducks to the other side. “I am not saying you shouldn’t use this gift. I am just advising you not to jump in headfirst before you know how deep the water is. Start off in the shallow end – with rubber duck summonings – and work your way up to angelic reincarnations, yeah?”

As much as she hated to admit it, Anathema probably had a point. There was no point in rushing into anything. The last thing they wanted was to cause more damage than they already had.

“So what do we do?” Pepper found herself asking after the silence and indecision had grown too strong to bare.

At this, the witch smiled, her brown eyes sparkling with tentative excitement.

“Let me try and teach you some magic.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hopefully this section did enough to explain what happened to Uriel a few chapters ago. If you're still confused, I'll try and clear it up a bit more later on when Crowley and Aziraphale discover what's going on with the Them.
> 
> From here on out, the pattern of chapters may be changing a bit. I usually stick with 2-3 chapters centered around Crowley and Aziraphale, followed by an interlude type chapter centered on someone else. However, there is a lot that still needs to be explained and I feel like a lot of the information will make more sense coming from characters other than Crowley/Aziraphale. So you may see some of the chapters start to follow perspectives like Remiel or Dantalion (or perhaps even Death) so we can get the full picture of what is going on and I don't leave you all super confused.
> 
> There will still be plenty of our two favorite idiots, and I'll try to sprinkle in as much fluff as I can because I love them together so much and I know you guys do too.
> 
> I'm still trying to figure out how much longer we have to go in this story. It's hard for me to guess right now, but if I had to put a number on it, I'd say there are probably around 15 chapters left. Give or take a few. As soon as I have the outline ironed out, I will be sure to let you all know.
> 
> Until tomorrow!


	36. Chapter 25

The moments after the kind, blonde haired man walked out of the room, Thomas finally understood what it was to be alone.

He blinked, looking around the dark room, looking for _anything _that might jog his memory. The man had felt so strange and disoriented when he’d first opened his eyes and couldn’t remember anything about himself – not even his name. He couldn’t remember where he was or how he’d gotten there or any details about his life at all. Thomas had felt like a blank slate. Like an empty room with the lights turned off, devoid of anything.

And then his eyes had focused on the figure sitting beside him, smiling gently down at him with dazzling blue eyes. The bluest he’d ever seen. All of a sudden, Thomas’ worries had simply floated out the window. He knew this man. He was familiar in a world that was anything but. And based on the fluttering in his stomach and the sudden increase in the rhythm of his heart, this man was not just some passing acquaintance.

He was important to Thomas.

As they talked, the man only grew more sure of that fact. This man, whose name he could not remember, was so kind. So patient. Thomas could practically feel the love washing off him in waves. It was evident in the way his blue eyes sparkled, in the way he smiled gently down at Thomas as they talked. In the way he patiently coaxed Thomas to remember. And to his astonishment, it had worked.

Thomas had remembered his name. He remembered spending hours in the spare bedroom of his flat painting. The blonde man had smiled so warmly at him when Thomas had mentioned painting – had told him that he was rather good at it, which had filled the man’s heart with such warmth, he thought it might explode.

_That’s alright, dear boy. You’ve been through a lot._ The blonde man had spoken to him with such care and compassion that Thomas was suddenly so sure he knew who he was. Brief flashes of coffee shops and restaurant dinners and walking side by side down the streets of London filled his mind and Thomas just _knew_. This man was his…something.

There was no ring on either of their fingers. Thomas didn’t need to look down at his hand to tell that. Still, what did that prove? This was the 21st century, for crying out loud. Two men could be in a committed, loving relationship without rings to prove it. The fact that this man was sitting here by his side – had been sitting here for some time so Thomas wouldn’t wake up alone – was proof enough.

_Are you - ? Are we - ? _He had started to ask. Surely it had to be true. Surely this man had to be his….his what? Boyfriend? Partner? Lover? Whatever they were, Thomas would take it. The fact that this man was sitting patiently by his side, looking after him, that was all Thomas ever needed.

_I’m so sorry, my dear. My heart belongs to someone else._

In that moment, Thomas had literally felt sick to his stomach. The whole room suddenly felt colder. He had looked up at the man’s face in that moment and felt a sudden stab of sympathy roll through him at the soft, somber look in his eyes. What reason would this man ever have to look so sad? Did the person this man loved not return his feelings? Only an idiot would be so blind.

“He’s a lucky man,” Thomas murmured. His sentiments were met with a soft smile.

“Oh no, dear. I’m the lucky one.” The blonde haired man had replied and the sincerity in his voice somehow made Thomas believe him. What kind of man would he have to be to win this spectacular creature’s love? Who was this person that held close to his heart everything Thomas never knew he wanted?

_He’s my very best friend._

The minute that a knock sounded on the door and it opened, Thomas understood. He watched as a handsome red-haired man opened the door, a pair of dark sunglasses perched on the bridge of his nose, completely obscuring his eyes. Thomas didn’t need to see the man’s eyes to know he was looking only at the blonde-haired man, who had gone suddenly very stiff beside Thomas’ bedside.

Looking back and forth between them, the man finally understood.

They didn’t know.

Thomas could literally feel the love in the air. There was no other way to describe how the air in the room around them practically vibrated with energy. No other way to describe the way both of their skin flushed in the dim light. No other way to interpret the softly spoken greeting of ‘hey, angel’ coming from the red-haired man’s lips.

These two men were very much in love, and they had no idea how the other one felt.

In an instant, the ‘angel’ man was gone, promising to send someone else upstairs to check on Thomas as soon as he could. The door shut quickly behind his retreating form, and all of a sudden, Thomas was alone.

Very much alone.

There was nothing here for him. Nothing that he’d seen before. Nothing familiar. The blonde ‘angel’ had walked out that door and suddenly Thomas was once more a man with no memory. A man alone in the world with no one turn to. No home to go to. No family of his own.

No one that loved him.

What was he supposed to do? How was he supposed to live his life when he had nothing? Maybe the ‘angel’ had been right. Maybe, given time, his memories would return, but what motivation did he have for that to happen with no one here to share in those memories with him?

The door creaked open and Thomas looked up as a narrow beam of soft light filtered in from the hallway. Who would it be this time? Would this person feel familiar to him too? Would he remember their name like he’d remembered his own, or would it remain a mystery?

Thomas hated this. Hated that he couldn’t remember who he was, hated how he didn’t understand how he’d found himself in this situation. As he sat here in the bed, Thomas recognized that almost the entirety of his body hurt. It ached, and not just at the surface, but deep down to the center of his bones. Yet, there were no bandages. No sign of any kind that he could see that indicated how he had been hurt or why he felt such pain.

Was this some sort of sickness? Did he have cancer or some other sort of deadly disease? Was the amnesia a side effect of some other problem he was dealing with?

Was he dying?

Somehow, the thought of death terrified him more than any other thing he could possibly think of.

A girl of Asian descent entered the room, her bare feet padding softly across the patterned area rug. As she took a seat beside him, Thomas realized that she likely wasn’t a girl after all, rather a young woman in her mid-twenties, with cropped black hair and a soft, hesitant smile. Her brown eyes glistened behind a pair of dark eyelashes and the moment they met his own. Thomas realized something.

He knew her.

The man had no idea how, but he _knew_ this woman. Knew her better than the man who had been here before. Knew her bright, dazzling smile, her loud, boisterous laugh. He could practically hear it echoing in his mind – hear her rich voice filling the space around them and the woman hadn’t even opened her mouth yet.

“Remiel…” the word poured from his lips before Thomas had a moment to understand what it meant. It sounded like a name, a strange, yet familiar one. He had no idea where it had come from, only the knowledge that it sounded right. It belonged to her. And he had remembered it.

The woman stopped in her tracks, froze, her brown eyes filling with tears. Thomas frowned, hoping he hadn’t done something to upset her. What if he’d gotten the name wrong? What if Remiel was the name of some other woman, not her? If it was her name, shouldn’t the woman be happy he remembered her? She cared about him, didn’t she? Why else would be up here to look after him?

“I’m sorry,” the man began, trying to backtrack. Trying to fix whatever damage he’d caused. Trying to do whatever he could to make sure she didn’t leave.

He didn’t want to be alone again. Even though she had yet to say a word, the room had instantly filled with warmth as soon as she’d walked across the threshold. Thomas had felt the feeling settle into his heart and around his shoulders like a blanket in the cold. He couldn’t help from smiling as he’d made eye contact with her.

And then he’d gone and said that name and ruined everything.

“You remember me?” Her voice was soft, choked with emotion, echoes of disbelief filling the air around her. Thomas watched as she slowly made her way to the chair, carefully sitting down, her soft brown eyes never leaving his face.

Thomas offered her a gentle smile. He had the sudden urge to reach out and take her hand, but refrained. Not until he understood who she was. This woman had obviously come into this room not expecting him to know her at all. The fact that he did had overwhelmed her with emotion. What did that mean? Who was she? And more importantly, who was she to him?

“I remember you name,” he explained, voice just as soft. A sudden stab of sorrow entered his heart, like he’d lost something very precious to him. “I recognize your face, but I don’t know how. I don’t know who you are.”

She smiled, a smile so bright it took his breath away. Despite the situation at hand, despite the fact that she knew he didn’t remember her – not really, she was beaming, not a hint of sorrow or disappointment in sight. The feeling of warmth intensified in his chest. Remiel was practically glowing at this point. Thomas swore that if he squinted, he could actually see a faint halo of light around her head.

“That’s alright,” she breathed, tears rolling down her cheeks, shining like rainbows in the sunlight drifting in from outside. Gently, she reached out and took his hand and Thomas felt flashes of what he could only describe as _love_ flooding his body, banishing the cold and the hurt and all the pain.

At the edge of his hearing, the man swore he could hear the twittering of songbirds. The smell of sweet springtime blossoms filled the air around them and a memory hovered at the edge of his mind. Something about a garden and sitting under the shade of a leafy tree – avoiding the hot summer’s sun as they talked.

“You’re here now,” she was saying, giving his hand a gentle squeeze. Thomas beamed up at her. He couldn’t help himself. Remiel’s smile was infectious. “You’re here and you’re safe and that’s all that matters.”

For a moment, Thomas allowed himself to bathe in her light, simply content to live in the peace of the moment. He couldn’t remember ever feeling like this before, but something about it was so achingly familiar. The man found that after a while, he couldn’t stay quiet.

“Do you think,” he began, looking up at her tearstained, smiling face, their hands still grasping onto each other tightly. “Do you think telling me about yourself, about us, might help me remember?” Something shifted in her face, a slight flash of panic in her eyes, the faintest of frowns at the corner of her mouth. It was gone before Thomas had a chance to fully understand.

“We were friends,” she explained softly and something in the man’s heart ached. Once again, Thomas felt as if he’d had something wonderful, something overwhelmingly precious that he’d somehow lost. The feeling clawed at his chest, sucking the breath from his lungs, making it nearly impossible to breath. Tears pricked at his eyes and the man had an overwhelming desire to remove his hand from hers in shame.

The sheer strength of her grip in his hand, like she was terrified to let him go, was the only thing preventing Thomas from doing just that.

“What happened?” he found himself asking, afraid of what the answer might be.

Her smile fell, and Thomas hated himself, knowing it was all his fault. He was the reason for this sudden sadness, this sadness he assumed had been around for a long time now.

“You left,” Remiel breathed, barely more than a whisper. There was more than just sadness in her eyes. Thomas couldn’t remember much of his life, but he knew by looking at her that he had never known such pain. Such grief and loss.

“We fell out of touch,” the woman admitted quietly, and for the first time she looked away from him. “There was a huge fight and after the dust settled, you were gone.” Remiel’s voice caught in her throat and with a gentle tug, she lifted Thomas’ hand to her forehead, pressing his knuckles against her skin in a motion that had more intimacy that it probably should have. The man found he was unable to look away.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured, not knowing what else to say. Something about the way her words were spoken made him feel like the fight was his fault, like he had been the one to leave her behind. Still, the fact that she was here now, in what was likely his hour of greatest need, had to mean something.

Once again, she raised her head to look at him. “So am I.” Thomas squeezed her hand gently, thankful that it was still in his to hold onto. He couldn’t imagine what he had done to cause Remiel this amount of pain, but in that moment, the man vowed he would do whatever it took to make things right between them again.

“I thought you were gone,” Remiel mentioned after a heartbeat of silence fell between them. She leaned forward in her seat, elbows resting on the bed beside him. Thomas looked up, his grey eyes studying every inch of her face. Once again, he felt a flash of warmth as the smell of earth and flower blossoms filled his nostrils, hinting at a memory that was just out of his reach. “I tried to find you again, but I _couldn’t_. I tried everything, looked everywhere. You were just gone.”

Tears spilled from her eyes and Thomas shifted in the bed so he was sitting up, his face level with hers. Slowly, the man reached out and placed the palm of his free hand against her cheek, using his thumb to brush the moisture away from the right side of her face. She leaned into his touch, brown eyes fluttering shut as a soft breath escaped her lips.

Something came to life in Thomas’ chest. Something strong and sure. He didn’t remember what had happened between them. Didn’t know why he had been so difficult to find after their falling out, but Remiel had been right. Thomas was here, now, and that was all that mattered. His memory would come back eventually, and even if it didn’t, he could make new memories, here, with Remiel, and anyone else in this house he might have forgotten along the way.

Things were going to be alright. He believed that with more faith than he probably had in his entire life up until that point. Thomas didn’t know how he knew this to be true, but it was. Beyond a shadow of a doubt, the man knew that things were going to be just fine, now that Remiel was here beside him once more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is for you, sarahenany ;)
> 
> Up next, we'll check back in on Crowley and Aziraphale (from Crowley's POV this time). So prepare yourselves for some more fluff, and maybe a surprise or two...
> 
> Thanks again to all of you along for the ride. I absolutely adore reading your reactions, so please, keep them coming <3


	37. Chapter 26

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jasmine Cottage gets some visitors.

This wasn’t real.

There was no way this was real, that he, _Crowley_, was sitting outside in a garden under a sky painted like fire, being kissed by the most beautiful, kindhearted, clever, stubborn angel in all of Heaven or otherwise. It had to be a dream. An achingly wonderful dream that he never wanted to wake up from. Crowley never wanted this to end.

He had dreamed of this moment for so long – nearly six-thousand _years _worth of dreaming. Dreamed of how it might feel to hold Aziraphale’s hand. How the angel’s skin might feel as Crowley’s fingertips danced across his cheeks. He’d dreamed of long walks in the park, Aziraphale’s gentle hand upon his arm, stopping to drop some scraps for the ducks. Dreamed of sitting on their bench and talking the day away, of leaning in to gently press his lips against the angel’s. Dreamed of sweet kisses out in the open and stolen kisses at night. The light brush of lips and the passionate mixture of teeth and tongue. Crowley wanted it all.

Crowley wanted Aziraphale. All of him, everything the angel had to give, from now until the end of eternity.

_I love you, Crowley._

It wasn’t a dream. This was real. This, kissing Aziraphale underneath the autumn sunset was happening to him, right now. This was _real_. He was sitting here on this stone wall with Aziraphale right beside him, their hands entwined together, the angel’s leg pressed up against his. Aziraphale’s fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him closer, tugging at him with an overwhelming need that the demon was happy to fill.

It wasn’t a dream.

“Angel,” Crowley breathed as he pulled away, breaking the contact of their lips. All too soon, he was sure he would move right back into kissing Aziraphale, but for right now, there was something the angel needed to know. Something Crowley could not go another day without telling Aziraphale. They had no idea what tomorrow might bring and the demon was not about to let anything stand between them ever again.

A quiet whine emerged from the angel’s throat at the loss of contact, bringing a small smirk to Crowley’s face. He watched as Aziraphale sat up straight, lowering one of his hands from Crowley’s cheek. To the demon’s joy, the other hand remained safely entwined in his own, resting gently between their laps.

“Aziraphale,” Crowley said seriously, looking over at those bright blue eyes. “Angel, with everything that’s happened to us, I just – “ he broke off, eyes drifting downward to their intertwined hands. _Damn_. This was so much harder than he thought it would be.

“I need you to know what I mean, when I say that I love you.”

He glanced back up again to see Aziraphale smiling at him softly, eyes dancing with happiness and affection. Crowley felt his heart fill with warmth, a warmth that only Aziraphale could bring.

“I know, dearest,” the angel murmured, a gentle smile on his face.

Crowley shook his head, his stomach starting to flutter nervously. “No, angel. I don’t think you do. Not…fully anyway.”

He stopped, attempting to gather his thoughts. It was now or never. Crowley was not going to let another second go by without Aziraphale understanding one very simple fact.

“You’re my everything, angel,” the demon began, looking up to gaze into those eyes that he loved so much. Aziraphale stilled for a moment, tears dancing at the edge of his vision. “I don’t know how to express that I mean that with my whole heart. With all that I am. When I saw you standing on that wall in Eden, I honestly didn’t know what to expect.”

A gentle squeeze of his hand caused Crowley to look down again, only briefly. The demon marveled at the way Aziraphale’s fingers seemed to fit perfectly wedged in between his own. Like their hands had always been meant to hold each other. The angel’s fingers were soft. So smooth.

Too smooth.

Crowley blinked, shifting their hands slightly so he could get a better look. His amber eyes drifted to the angel’s pinky finger, where for the last six thousand years a gold signet ring had rested comfortably against Aziraphale’s skin. It was no longer there.

“And?”

The demon looked up, immediately filing that bit of information away to be examined at a later date. There was something more important to focus on at the moment.

“You opened your wing to me,” Crowley breathed, trying not to let the emotion show through too much in his voice. “You sheltered me from the rain. You gave your _sword_ away and I was gone. Aziraphale, I’ve been yours since the very beginning. I’ve loved you since Eden.” He took a deep breath and plunged on, trying to ignore how his hands were beginning to shake. “Wholly, completely, with everything that I am, angel. And I know that I’m a demon and that my everything may not be all that much – “

The flash of light in Aziraphale’s eyes stopped Crowley in his tracks. His eyes flew open wide as the angel leaned in and pressed another kiss to his lips. This one was much less gentle than the others had been. This kiss was fierce and filled with passion. It shocked him to his core, filled him with a sparkling, shimmering heat that started in the pit of his stomach and spread outward until it reached the tips of the demon’s fingers and toes.

Aziraphale’s hand was pulled from his own and Crowley whined a little at the lost contact. The noise was cut off immediately as his angel reached his free hands up to cup Crowley’s face, cradling it like it was the most precious thing in the entire world.

“Crowley,” Aziraphale breathed against his lips, kissing him again and again and again. “My dear, my _love._” The angel pulled back and Crowley found himself looking into a pair of bright blue eyes. His heart thudded against his chest as that familiar bright smile graced Aziraphale’s face, lighting up the demon’s entire life.

Tears filled his eyes as Aziraphale’s thumb began to trace slow circles against his cheek. What had he done to deserve this wonderful creature? How had Crowley gotten so lucky that Aziraphale would dare return his love?

“You’re everything I’ve ever wanted, Crowley.” The demon leaned forward to press another kiss to his angel’s lips. He brought both hands up to Aziraphale’s arms, feeling their firmness beneath the sleeves of his tan jacket. “I don’t want to hear you ever saying otherwise.”

The demon grinned, pulling back to look his angel in the eye one more time. “Whatever you say, angel.”

Eventually, the skies above them grew dark and the angel and demon sitting in a garden in Tadfield stepped down from the wall and walked back inside, their hands once again linked together. Inside, they found their human friends seated around a table of food, about to start their dinner.

The four children were seated at one end of the table, suspiciously quiet based off what Crowley knew about them. He looked down at Adam, making eye contact with the boy as he bit into a rather large bread roll. Slowly, Crowley raised an eyebrow, suddenly getting the feeling that he and Aziraphale ad missed something important while they had been…otherwise occupied.

“What’s going on in here?” The demon asked casually, eyes glancing back and forth to each of the children, willing one of them to break.

“That all depends.” Anathema was the one to respond. Crowley turned to face her, heat creeping into his cheeks at her look of curious amusement. Gritting his teeth, the demon stared her down, daring her to say anything about the angel’s hand that was currently resting in his own. “What was going on out there?”

Crowley grinned at her mischievously and the witch smiled back, quickly returning her gaze to the food in front of her. “The two of you are welcome to join us for dinner, if you’d like. I didn’t know if you wanted anything.”

“That’s alright, my dear,” Aziraphale answered quickly. Crowley’s heart leapt as he felt the gentle squeeze of the angel’s hand in his. “I’m not all that hungry at the moment.”

Anathema lifted her head, fixing her all-knowing gaze on the pair of them. Crowley shot her a look which she returned with a simple smile.

Before the demon could say anything else – ask where Remiel was, if they’d heard of any news from above or below, what the plan was, if they had one at all – a knock came at the door. All heads in the room turned toward the sound as silence fell around them all.

“I wasn’t expecting anyone,” Anathema remarked, cautiously.

Crowley paused. “Could it be one of their parents?” he asked, glancing down at the four children who had started looking back and forth between each other with rapt attention. “I was under the impression that parents tend to worry about their children when they’re gone for long periods of time. Especially when they’re off hanging out with angels and demons.”

Anathema rolled her eyes, but the demon could sense her underlying discomfort. The knock sounded again. Crowley clutched at Aziraphale’s hand a bit tighter. The house was protected from most occult forces, Anathema had made sure of that. But what about the ethereal ones? Had the witch thought to ward her home against angels? Was there even a way to go about doing that?

“I already took care of them,” she answered. “Their parents are aware they are spending the weekend here. We will have them back home by tomorrow night so they can get a good night’s sleep before school starts.”

A frown made its way onto the demon’s face. He wasn’t so sure such a plan would work. It wasn’t as if all of their problems would be solved by tomorrow. Brian and the other children would be in just as much danger tomorrow as they were today. As long as Gabriel was out there, none of them were safe.

“Well,” Aziraphale huffed, tugging Crowley toward the front of the house, “We won’t know who it is unless we open the door.”

The demon’s eyes went wide. “Are you serious?” he asked tugging back against the angel’s pull. Aziraphale’s grip was surprisingly strong and Crowley felt himself being dragged forward anyway. “After everything that’s happened, you want to just open the door? Angel, you have no idea who is on the other side. What if it’s Beelzebub? Or Gabriel? Or any of those other wankers?”

The panic was entering his voice. No matter what he tried, Crowley could not keep it at bay, not when he thought about all that could happen to his angel if they did this. If they opened the door and it was any one of a number of beings, all could be lost.

Aziraphale brought them level to the door, then turned to look at Crowley. He flashed a soft smile in the demon’s direction and then leaned in for a sweet, lingering kiss. Crowley couldn’t help but smile into it, still growing used to the way his heart did somersaults in his chest with each and every one. He didn’t know if he would ever get used to this wonderful feeling. Not in all of the time he had left to live.

“Have a little faith, dearest.” The name sent shivers down Crowley’s spine. Without a word, he leaned closer, pressing his forehead against Aziraphale’s as his eyes fluttered shut. “Everything will be alright.”

Mustering all the courage he had left to give, Crowley took a deep breath and opened the door.

Only to find himself face to face with a porch full of the Heavenly Host. At a quick glance, there were nearly two dozen of them, maybe more. They filled the small porch, flooding out into the yard beyond. Each of them was dressed in a long white robe, their pristine white wings on display for all to see. Crowley’s eyes widened as they turned to look at him, no hostility in their eyes, just simple, expectantly glances.

“What the….what?” The demon pulled the door open wide as Aziraphale stepped up next to him, wrapping a strong arm around his waist, drawing Crowley in closer to his side. His heart swelled in his chest at the image of Aziraphale – kind, thoughtful Aziraphale, facing down a hoard of angels just to keep him safe.

“What are you doing here? Can we help you?” Aziraphale’s words were polite, but is tone was anything but. Crowley felt his mouth go dry as the angel out front, one that looked surprisingly familiar, looked over to address them.

“We came to talk,” Amariel explained. “We saw what happened and we – “ he paused, turning to look at the gathering of angels behind him. “We all think Gabriel has gone too far. We don’t want any part in what Gabriel is planning, so we thought it best to come here.”

Crowley narrowed his eyes. “What is that wanker up to?” he asked, unable to help himself. Aziraphale squeezed his hand again, this time in warning. The demon fell silent, turning his attention to Aziraphale, letting his angel take the lead.

“Why don’t you all come inside.”

It was a miracle they all managed to it through the door and into the sitting room. A miracle that an angel and demon might have had a little something to do with. It wouldn’t do to have everyone uncomfortably pressed up against each other as they talked. How much harm could really be done by expanding the walls by several feet to accommodate everyone?

“What is going on?” Anathema asked from the other side of the room as she made to stand.

“No need to fear,” Amariel answered immediately. The witch relaxed when she saw his familiar face, but it did nothing to ease the intense spark in her eyes. “We’ve only come to talk. And to help if we can.”

There was a pause before he spoke again. “Is Remiel here?”

Crowley was about to open his mouth to answer, to demand to know what exactly was going on, when he was once again interrupted. This time from a voice on the stairs.

“Amariel.”

All eyes turned to watch as Remiel emerged, still dressed in her oversized shirt and striped leggings. Compared to the rest of the angels in the room, she was hardly the type to seem like an imposing force. Except for the way every angel stood motionless as they watched her. Except in the way that they shifted almost imperceptibly to let her pass. Except for the way silence fell around them as they waited for her to speak. The tension in the air was so thick, Crowley could barely breathe.

The Archangel took several steps forward before a smile finally found its way onto her face. The other angel in the middle of the room smiled back and in an instant they were embracing.

“Thank you,” Crowley heard Remiel whisper and his mind was brought back to the bandstand. Back to when they were moments away from confrontation. Back to when the Archangel had sent up a plea to keep the humans safe. That nothing else mattered.

The pair embraced for a second longer. As Remiel stepped back, the demon noticed the flash of worry in her eyes. It made his stomach clench together painfully. Trying not to draw too much attention, Crowley released Aziraphale’s hand and wrapped his arm around the angel’s shoulders instead, drawing him closer, wishing he could wrap all of himself around the angel’s warmth and never let go.

“What are you all doing here?” the Archangel asked cautiously, knowing that this many angels here on Earth after what had just happened to them couldn’t be a good sign.

Amariel took a deep breath, all of the previous joy slowly draining from his face. “Gabriel is furious. He has let his need for justice overtake him. We felt what he was wanting to do was wrong, so we left to come find you.” The angel paused, turning his head to look at the others gathered around him, his long braided ponytail swishing back and forth against the base of his wings.

“There are more of us,” Amariel continued. “On their way. We didn’t want to leave all at once, for fear he might have tried to stop us.”

Crowley frowned. “How many more of you?” It wasn’t as though their current base was well equipped for housing the beings that were already here. There was no way Anathema’s cottage could house two dozen more angels. Or any other stragglers coming down from heaven.

The long-haired angel looked over at Crowley, then back to Remiel. His answer was barely more than a whisper, but every ear in the room heard it.

“All of us.”

The demon’s amber eyes went wide. He couldn’t be serious. All of the angels in Heaven were coming down to Earth? That wasn’t possible. Gabriel had plenty of followers in Heaven, plenty of angels that thought the same way he did. Plenty that would have been furious over Uriel’s death. Plenty who would be desperate for revenge. Amariel couldn’t be right.

“Excuse me,” Aziraphale piped up, and all eyes turned toward him, causing the angel to blush ever so slightly. “What exactly do you mean when you say ‘all of you’?”

Remiel frowned. “He means all of the angels under my direct supervision.”

Crowley swallowed hardly. Remiel was one of six Archangels that resided in Heaven. As a demon, he didn’t know exactly how the different departments were split up, but by the look on her face, he was beginning to get some sort of idea.

“And how many is that, exactly?”

A pause. “One million, six hundred and fifty thousand.” Her quiet response filled the room, shocking the demon to his core. “Give or take a few hundred.”

What. The. Fuck?

A soft creak of the stairs caught Crowley’s attention, preventing him from remarking on the sheer ridiculousness of the situation they’d just found themselves in. One and a half million angels, coming to the greater London area? It was sure to be madness. Several other heads in the room turned to see where the sound had come from.

“What is this…” Thomas’ quiet voice echoed around them as the human stared across a room that was now filled with several dozen angels – all with their wings out, plain as day. “What is going on?”

Well, shit. And just when Crowley thought they were finally going to catch a break.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh boy...things are really heating up now. We are well on our way to the final events of this story, so hold on tight everyone.
> 
> I'm not sure if I'll be able to get the next chapter up tomorrow (I'll be travelling home from Georgia), so if you don't hear from me, don't panic. I will get back into the swing of things on Tuesday, for sure. 
> 
> I hope you all enjoyed this chapter. Don't forget to drop in and leave a comment (even if it is just incoherent screaming over how adorable our two favorite boys are). Thanks again to all my loyal readers! You all are the best :)


	38. Chapter 27

“I don’t believe it…” Thomas breathed, grey eyes wide but unseeing as he sat on the edge of the couch, head buried in his hands. Aziraphale felt a stab of pain in his heart and drew closer to Crowley, threading their fingers together with a reassuring squeeze. 

This could have been them. If they hadn’t been able to get away. If Crowley had been first at the chopping block. If Dantalion hadn’t sacrificed himself for Aziraphale’s sake. So many things could have gone wrong. It was a miracle he and Crowley were standing here, hand in hand, with the full knowledge of who they were and what they meant to each other.

Thomas didn’t have that. He’d given it up to save Aziraphale. And now, he’d just spent the past hour listening to Dantalion’s story -  _ his  _ story. All because he’d happened to walk down the stairs at the wrong time to find a room filled with angels.

In retrospect, they probably should have asked their guests to make themselves look more human. At the time, Aziraphale hadn’t thought about it. Everyone else in the house knew what was going on. They knew the stakes. And although they hadn’t been expecting several dozen angels to appear out of nowhere, it hadn’t really been that much of a surprise that they had.

“I mean,” the man said, finally looking up again. “Obviously, I do. About the angels. I saw their wings. But me? A demon?”

The others had been forced to relocate. Anathema’s cottage had been tight enough to begin with when there had just been two angels and a demon there. With this many? There had been no other way. They had to find a place more suitable. A place that could hold a  _ million and a half _ of Heaven’s angels.

It was impossible. No place on Earth would be able to sustain them, even with a Heavenly Host of miracles at their disposal. It wasn’t as if they could be let free to roam the Earth either. Apart from Aziraphale, not many of the angels had ever been to Earth before. They may spend their time in Heaven watching humanity, but that didn’t mean they had any idea how to live among them.

That much had been made blindingly obvious with the whole wing debacle they now found themselves in.

A new location needed to be found, but no place would have them. They had been at a standstill until someone finally spoke up. Finally offered them the answer they had been seeking - the only place in all of creation that could possibly work.

Newton had been the one to think of it.

“What about the Tadfield Airbase?” he had asked in a voice that made it seem like such an obvious solution. “It was abandoned after The Apocalypse. I drive by it every day on my way to work. There’s plenty of space and not a single soul for miles.”

It was perfect. In that moment, he and Crowley and Anathema had all breathed a sigh of relief. They could relocate all the angels to the airbase, set them up with a place to stay, away from prying human eyes. Their miracles could be used without repercussion. They would be safe there, for the time being. While the rest of them figured out what to do.

As soon as the idea had been agreed upon, the angels had left. They had literally miracled themselves directly from Anathema’s living room to the airbase, leaving a shocked former demon in their wake. In that moment, Aziraphale had been sure Thomas was going to pass out, but Remiel had reached out to take his hand and lead him over to the couch. She sat down beside him, hand resting gently on his and had turned her head toward Aziraphale.

Aziraphale had then turned to Crowley and together, they’d tried their best to explain.

“Can I see?” Thomas asked, looking back and forth between them, his grey eyes shining with apprehension, waiting. As if he needed their permission to assure himself that this was really happening to him.

The angel frowned. “See what, dear?” He had no idea what Thomas was thinking in this moment. Did he think they were crazy? Was he under the impression that this was some sort of dream? Did he believe them - believe all the bits about angels and demons and the end of the world - but was just having trouble understanding how he fit in with it all?

“You said…” the man trailed off, taking a deep breath as he looked up into Aziraphale’s eyes. The expression of panic in those stormy grey pools was not lost on the angel. “You said that I was a demon...before. That I lost my memories because they took my wings from me.”

“Can I see?”

Aziraphale’s stomach hit the floor. He felt like he was going to be sick with the memory of crumpled wings and burned flesh. Of seeing his own body battered and bruised and being powerless to stop. The ghost of Crowley’s screams still echoed in his mind and Aziraphale drew closer to his demon, Crowley’s hand tightening in his as if they both knew what the other was thinking about.

With a wave of his hand, a full length mirror appeared in front of the fireplace. Aziraphale watched, hardly daring to breathe, as Thomas stood up from the couch and walked closer with unsteady hands. The angel’s blue gaze fell to Remiel, watching as tears filled her eyes. He still did not quite understand their history - why this demon was so important to her, but the angel could hazard a guess.

Heaven did not remember much about those who had fallen. Aziraphale did not understand why, but somehow those memories had been taken from them, leaving only echoes of sadness and loss. The faintest hint that there had been  _ something _ there where now there was nothing.

Aziraphale had shattered memories of his own like that. Memories of bright smiles and warm laughter. An emptiness that lingered in his chest when he thought of Heaven before the Fall. He had lost someone too, but unlike Remiel, Aziraphale had no clue who that angel might have been. Somehow, Remiel did. Perhaps it was because she was an Archangel. Perhaps her extra power had allowed her to retain some hint of the past that the other angels could not.

However it had happened, Remiel knew that Thomas was Dantalion, and Dantalion had once been an angel close to her heart. She had found him in the chaos that was this life and had then stood there in that lobby and watched as everything had been torn away from him.

One by one, Thomas began to undo the buttons of his shirt. Aziraphale was torn. On the one hand, it felt like an immense invasion of privacy to watch the former demon undress before their eyes. Not to mention a betrayal of Crowley’s trust, after everything that Dantalion had put them through.

On the other hand, Aziraphale had been the one to heal him. He would be remiss not to make sure he’d done an adequate job.

With a deep breath, the shirt fell away and Thomas turned toward them, head over his shoulder, looking at the two long gashes against his shoulder blades. They were still angry red in color, but the black skin had been removed. There was no sign of any burns or bleeding - just the bright, burning scarlet of new skin that would eventually fade into a pair of pale white scars. 

Slowly, Thomas’ hand rose to touch the skin, fingertips running over the tender surface. In the mirror, Aziraphale could see the man wince in pain, whether from the actual contact or the ghost of a memory, the angel did not know.

“I keep telling myself that this can’t be real,” Thomas murmured, his eyes still fixed on his wounds. “Except everything you have said so far makes sense. I don’t remember anything, but I know you are telling the truth.” He looked up, meeting each of their gazes one by one as he slipped his shirt back on, hiding the gruesome marks. “I can feel it.” 

“Thank you,” the man breathed after a moment of silence hung around them all. Aziraphale offered Thomas a hesitant smile as his grey eyes drifted upward to his face. “Thank you all for helping me. For healing me. I am more than sure I didn’t deserve it.”

Aziraphale opened his mouth to tell the man otherwise, but Crowley beat him to it.

“You don’t,” the demon all but snarled. Aziraphale shot him a look that Crowley ignored. The angel understood that Crowley still hated Thomas for all he had put them through, but even without the former demon’s interference, they would have still had to deal with Gabriel and the sword. They should count themselves lucky that Dantalion had been so willing to give up everything just for their sake.

“So,” Thomas began, reaching a hand up to rub nervously at the back of his head. “Why exactly were there so many angels here earlier? I think I missed that part.”

“They’re leaving Heaven,” Remiel answered, hovering at the edge of the couch, her eyes never once leaving Thomas’ face. “Gabriel has set his sights on revenge and they disagree. They’re coming down to Earth. Permanently, I suppose.”

“Yeah,” Crowley grumbled beside him. “All one and a half million of them.”

Aziraphale frowned. It was problematic. Even if they could fit all of Remiel’s legions of angels on Earth outside of Tadfield, then what? Gabriel would notice sooner than later that the angels were missing. Would that knowledge spurn him to enact his revenge sooner? Or would he be prompted to wait? 

“Perhaps more,” Remiel supplied and Aziraphale felt every drop of blood drain from his face. More? How could that be possible? “We still have no idea what happened to Barachiel. Any number of his angels could come looking for him. We really don’t know anything at all.” She paused, a scowl appearing on her face. “I wish there was a way we could find out. We need to know what we’re up against. We need to know what Heaven and Hell are planning this time.”

As much as he hated to admit it, Aziraphale agreed with her. The only reason they had been able to escape punishment the last two times was because they’d had an idea what was awaiting them. This time, they were going in blind. He couldn’t even begin to imagine how dangerous that was. Not when facing an opponent like Gabriel.

“I could go back,” Remiel mused and Aziraphale’s gaze shot over to her, blue eyes open wide. The Archangel stood up and walked over toward the front of the house, gazing out the window as if she were looking for something or someone listening in. Someone hiding in the nearby trees, stalking them as the evening fell. “Gabriel does not have the authority to punish me. I would be relatively safe.”

Crowley scoffed and Aziraphale turned to shoot him a disapproving look. The demon glanced down at him, squeezed the angel’s hand, and continued with his thought. “Good ol’ Gabriel may not destroy you. But he’s sure as Hell or Heaven not going to tell you what his plans are. He may be a bastard and a wanker, but he’s not stupid.”

The Archangel standing before them frowned. “Maybe I can get some help. Or snoop around and get some ideas. Either way, we won’t learn anything if I stay down here. Up there, I’ve at least got a chance to learn something that might save us.”

Aziraphale didn’t like this. He didn’t like this plan one bit. Gabriel was not the type of angel one messed with. Based off everything they had seen - every interaction he or Crowley had with the Archangel, Remiel’s assumption that she would not be harmed was flimsy at best. 

“What exactly do you think he’s going to do?” Thomas asked, shifting his weight from one foot to the other, grey eyes glancing in every direction.

Aziraphale turned to Remiel. Out of all of them, she knew Gabriel best. She had been with him since the beginning.

The look that passed over the Archangel’s face in that moment made Aziraphale’s blood turn to ice. He felt panic seize at his chest and the angel clutched Crowley’s hand as tightly as he could, afraid that if he let go, Gabriel himself might swoop down and take his beloved away from him forever. 

“I think,” she began, voice little more than a whisper. “That if given the chance, Gabriel will turn the whole Earth to ash.”

Not a single one of them dared to breathe for several seconds, letting the weight of her words settle on their shoulders and between their ears and inside their hearts. Aziraphale could feel it in his very core that she was right. Gabriel would destroy all of creation to dole out his punishment on them. The entire world would burn bright with Hellfire and then be drowned with Holy Water. There would be nothing left but Gabriel and the angels who followed him, looking down upon a vast, empty void. 

“That is why I have to go,” Remiel continued. “I have to find a way to stop him.”

“What about Hell?” Crowley’s voice cut through the room. Aziraphale felt his heart clench with fear, knowing deep down what the demon was about to say. “If we send someone to Heaven, we should also send someone to Hell. We need to get the full picture.”

Remiel shook her head. “There’s no one to send,” she explained. “You will be destroyed the moment you walk through those gates. And it’s not as if we have any other demons lining up to lend us a hand.”

Aziraphale looked over at Anathema and Newton sitting at the table with the children. He felt a pang of sympathy echo through him as he looked down upon them. It was so unfair that their lives had to be thrown into this chaos. They were innocent in all of this. They deserved to live their lives as any other human did - blissfully unaware of how it all worked. Relying on faith alone to set them on the right path.

He wished there was some way he could make it up to them. Aziraphale supposed that saving the Earth from Gabriel’s righteous fury would have to do.

“Could you send one of us?” Newton asked softly. Aziraphale’s heart leapt into his chest, mouth suddenly going dry. “Would something like that even work?”

“No,” Remiel’s response was immediate and relief washed through the angel. He couldn’t even begin to imagine everything that could go wrong with a plan like that. For starters, in order to send one of the humans to Hell, they would have to be killed. Aziraphale just wasn’t sure he was up to the task. “Even if we could get you to Hell, you wouldn’t be able to come back. It would defeat the entire purpose of sending you.”

What else could they be done? Could they lure a demon out of Hell and try questioning them? Send one of the angels down to try and gather information? Would any of that even help? Was there anything they could discover that would allow them to get everything back to the way it was supposed to be?

“You could send me.”

All eyes in the room turned toward the space where Thomas was standing. He was looking down at Remiel’s face, a new fierceness in his grey eyes.

“No.” It was the same response, the same words she’d used before, but Aziraphale could sense a difference this time. A hidden desperation, indicating the idea may not be as hopeless as he’d originally thought. “Out of the question.”

“Because you know it would work,” Thomas argued. “You all said it. Cutting off my wings made me mortal. But all mortals die eventually, right?” No one said a word to interrupt him. Thomas slowly turned toward Aziraphale, his eyes alight with determination. “You told me this was supposed to be an eternal punishment for the both of you. Each time your mortal life on Earth ended, you would return to Heaven and Hell and the punishment would start all over again.”

Thomas had a point. Based on what Gabriel had told them, that was how this was supposed to work. With their death, their eternal status would be restored. Had Crowley been the one to become mortal, he would have returned to Hell a full fledged demon the moment his life on Earth ended.

The same could be true for Thomas.  _ If  _ Gabriel had been telling them the truth. There was absolutely no way for them to find out.

“No,” Remiel stated again from her position by the window. Her eyes were staring at Thomas, unblinking, body refusing to take a step further. “We have no way of knowing - “

“We’ll never know if we don’t at least try,” Thomas cut in. Aziraphale felt an overwhelming wave of fondness for the self-sacrificing creature. Why was Thomas doing this? Why would he want to put himself in such danger for people he barely even knew?

“Let me do this,” he continued as Remiel finally looked away. “Let me be a part of this. Give me the chance to remember who I am.”

Aziraphale didn’t know how they could argue with that. And as much as she must hate the idea, Remiel seemed to come to the same conclusion. This was the only way. The had to kill him. They had to send him back to Hell.

Sensing the resistance to his plan dwindling, Thomas turned to look at them all one by one, his eyes lingering on Aziraphale’s face as the angel gave him a soft, grateful smile.

“Shall we get to it then?” Thomas asked, forcing several ounces of optimistic enthusiasm into his voice. 

Aziraphale’s eyes went wide. “Now?” Wasn’t this a little soon? Shouldn’t they come up with a plan first? Some sort of contingency if things went wrong? Some way for Thomas to reach them once he had the information they needed?

Thomas flashed him a cheeky smile. Crowley stiffened against his shoulder, and Aziraphale squeezed his demon’s hand, reassuring him that everything was alright. “No time like the present.”

Two sets of angel eyes met and Aziraphale scanned Remiel’s face, sensing the resignation in every weary line. They were out of ideas. He knew it. She knew it. They all knew it. There was only one thing left to decide now.

Which one of them was going to have the privilege of sending Thomas back to Hell? 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm pretty sure I'm going to have to shift to an every other day upload schedule for the rest of this story. It's the middle of the semester now and I've got final projects to work on as well, which will be taking up some of my extra free time (so sorry guys!). 
> 
> In addition to that, this next Interlude is a big one, and by big, I don't necessarily mean long. In my head, it's a bit different stylistically and for me to pull it off, it might take a little longer to write. I am targeting sometime Thursday, but may slip to Friday if it isn't perfect by then. A lot of the rest of the plot hinges on what happens in this next upload. So I need to take the time to do it right.
> 
> I hope you all are still enjoying this story. We're definitely starting to come to a close. I see it wrapping up in the next few weeks or so. 
> 
> Until next time!


	39. Interlude: Duality

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Remiel and Dantalion search for answers.

Death came to Thomas more swiftly and painlessly than he could have ever imagined. One moment, he was standing out in the back yard opposite Remiel, broad white wings stretched out behind her. The Angel’s arm extended out, glint of the metal gun in her hand. He remembered shooting her a confident smile, only to be met with a blank stare as the angel stared him straight in the eyes and fired without taking a single breath.

In the next moment, he heard the soft thud as his body hit the grass. Thomas was still standing. He had never stopped. His body had simply fallen away, allowing gravity to pull it to the ground now that his mind was no longer in control.

Only once his human form had completely stilled did Remiel react. Thomas watched as her face crumpled momentarily in immense pain, tears pooling in her eyes. Finally, she breathed in deep, pushing the grief away as she lowered the gun to her side. In the blink of an eye, it vanished.

Thomas would have watched more. He would have kept his gaze on her for the rest of eternity if his mind hadn’t suddenly been bombarded with six thousand years of memories all at once.

The creature cried out in pain and clutched at his head as the memories made their way back to him, forcing their way through his mind until they found the empty space where they belonged. The most recent ones came first, revealing his time on Earth, how he had sought out Aziraphale, began manipulating the angel’s love for Crowley, directed it toward himself instead. He remembered how he’d grown to care for the angel, how he’d severely underestimated the powerful connection those two had, how he’d found himself wrapped up in it. Unable to let go. Unable to allow anything to happen to Aziraphale because  _ Crowley _ would never allow anything to happen to his angel.

He remembered his time before Aziraphale - his countless centuries in Hell, using his abilities to transform his image - torture the souls of humanity through the forms of the ones they loved the most. He’d taken pride in his work. Pride in his ability to read them, to decipher their thoughts and find the perfect words that would tear them down, the words that would rip their hearts out and leave them bleeding and broken on the floor.

Each individual was like a puzzle, and once he figured them out, once he left them broken beyond repair, he moved onto the next one. He was good at his job. He enjoyed it. It was all a game, and he liked games. He was Dantalion, Duke of Hell. The demon of many faces. 

The memories went back further. They were filled with the stench of smoke and sulfur. Dantalion gasped for breath he didn’t need as tears filled his eyes. He didn’t understand how this was happening when he didn’t have a body to produce them, but all of a sudden, he was crying. He was crying as he remembered the Fall.

And just when he thought it was done. Just when the aching, burning thoughts of flames and fire and falling, falling, falling had come to an end, Dantalion remembered  _ Before.  _

He had been an angel once. Long before Time started its steady march. He had been tasked with creating some of the birds that flew the Earth and he had  _ loved _ it. Dantalion had adored molding the earth and the skies with his hands, forming each and every feather, watching as the creatures came to life, each a little bit different than the last. He loved the  _ colors _ the minute intricate details that assured no bird would ever look the same as another. He loved the diversity.

_ Look at their wings! Oh, Hadriel, they’re amazing. You made so many and they’re all so beautiful and unique. I love them! _

An achingly familiar voice echoed in his mind and Dantalion looked up. Tears were streaming down his face as he gazed over at Remiel. She was silently picking her way across the back yard, wings still extended out behind her. The gun had made no sound, the Archangel had made sure of that, but there was still a body to be dealt with. They couldn’t just leave it lying around.

_ Remiel. _ His heart ached with understanding. This was why she felt so familiar. This was why she had sat by his side when he’d lost everything. How could this have happened? How could he ever have forgotten her?

_ I made them for you.  _

“I love you,” Dantalion whispered into the gently falling night. He took a step forward, knowing she could not see or hear him. He was not a human soul - not part of her jurisdiction. Even if he had been, he doubted she would have been able to see him standing before her, tears streaming down his face, his heart on display for all to see. Remiel only guided the righteous souls to Heaven. He was anything but.

“Remiel,” he breathed, watching as she reached his body, watching as she stooped down into the grass and leaned over him, pressing her forehead against his. He wanted to fall to the ground beside her. Gather her in his arms and never let her go. He wanted to press his forehead against hers, whisper in her ear ‘I’m here’, ‘You found me’, ‘I’m so sorry, I’ll never leave you again’.

In the blink of an eye, his body crumbled to dust and Remiel got to her feet once more. She was standing there mere feet in front of him, his beautiful, joyful, brighter-than-the-sun Archangel, and Dantalion couldn’t go to her. He couldn’t touch her, couldn’t reassure her in any way that her days of mourning were over. That he  _ remembered. _

Remiel paused for a moment, and turned to look past him, the oddest expression on her face. Then, before Dantalion could gather his thoughts to call out to her, she was already retreating back into the house, a whispered ‘stay safe’ hanging in the air between them.

**YOU HAVE SOMETHING THAT BELONGS TO ME.**

Dantalion turned to find himself face to face with a figure cloaked in starlight. His face was obscured by the shimmering hood, but the demon could see a pair of sunken blue eyes that shone like beacons in the night. Chillingly cold and impossible to look away from.

Something tugged at the corner of his mind and Dantalion recoiled. “No!” he shouted, fear springing up within him. “No, please don’t take her away from me. Not again!”

The figure was silent. Unmoving, uncaring as Dantalion’s memories of Remiel began to fade once more. He gasped, begged and pleaded, trying to hold onto any sliver of familiarity as one by one they were ripped from his mind and his heart, cold blue eyes never once leaving Dantalion’s face.

“Please,” he tried one more time, sinking to his knees, the chill of the evening grass seeping through the legs of his pants. Dantalion didn’t understand what he was saying now, but he knew it was important. It was more important than anything else in his entire life. “Please, don’t make me forget.”

**FORGET WHAT?**

The demon paused, one final tear trickling down his cheek as he looked up at the cloaked figure grey eyes wide with grief and slowly clouding over with confusion.

“I - I don’t know.”

It was impossible to see his face, but in that moment, Dantalion knew that the figure towering over him was smiling. The most satisfied and wicked of grins.

**ENJOY YOUR TRIP TO HELL.**

* * *

Death came to Thomas more swiftly and painlessly than he could have ever imagined. One moment, he was standing out in the backyard opposite Remiel, broad white wings stretched out behind her. The Angel’s arm extended out, glint of the metal gun in her hand. He remembered shooting her a confident smile, only to be met with a blank stare as the angel stared him straight in the eyes and fired without taking a single breath.

In the next moment, he was standing in a dark room, surrounded by flickering lights and crumbling stone walls. He blinked and his memories were back, as if they’d never left. He was a demon. A Duke of Hell. Dantalion, the demon of many faces. Torturer, leader of thirty-six legions. 

He was Dantalion, and he had a job to do. 

First things first, he had to do something about his appearance, and quickly. Dantalion had been lucky to appear here alone. Things could have turned out very badly for him if anyone had noticed his arrival. That being said, now that he was back in Hell with his memories and his abilities restored, Dantalion could feel his shape starting to shift already. Anyone that caught sight of him now would immediately recognize him.

So, with a heaving breath, the demon began to concentrate. He shaped his body with his mind, imagining the dark skin, full lips, short curly hair atop his head. Dantalion gritted his teeth as the form settled into place, forcing back the urge to keep changing with each passing moment. He was the demon of many faces. Wearing a singular one for a long period of time was taxing, especially when he found himself in Hell.

The sooner he got done with his mission, the sooner he could get out of here and back to - 

Dantalion paused. Back to who? His mind had a specific person in mind. Someone important to him. Was it Aziraphale? Somehow, that thought didn’t seem right, but it had to be, didn’t it? Demons didn’t care about anyone. The only reason he was so attached to that particular angel was that his plan to woo the creature had backfired. He had underestimated the bond between Aziraphale and Crowley and now he was paying the price for it. 

Perhaps, if he returned to Earth with something that could help them save the wretched planet, he could be forgiven. Perhaps, if he risked his life down here, Aziraphale wouldn’t hate him for what he’d done. Dantalion didn’t need the angel’s love. He didn’t deserve it and if giving it meant Aziraphale would be miserable, Dantalion didn’t want it. He wanted the angel to be happy, and a blind man could see that being with Crowley made him shine brighter than the sun.

No, Dantalion didn’t need Aziraphale’s love. That love was meant for someone else. But maybe, just maybe, someday he could earn the angel’s friendship. And maybe that might just be enough.

So, with a deep breath and gritted teeth, holding his disguise in place, the demon stepped outside the room and into the rest of Hell.

No one took any notice. Not one demon even glanced his way as he began to roam the halls, looking and listening for some sign that plans were afoot. Now that he remembered his life as a demon, Dantalion wondered if Beelzebub or the other Dukes would choose to act. It hadn’t been one of theirs that had fallen, so the demons weren’t motivated by revenge like the Archangels might be.

They also might be hesitant to do anything if they believed the kid had actually killed Uriel. It had certainly looked that way, although Dantalion couldn’t figure out how he’d managed it. An Archangel, taken out by a measly human gun? It didn’t make any sense. But if Beelzebub believed it was possible, Hell might be more inclined to take a step back from the situation. Let Heaven and Earth duke it out and when the dust finally settled, move in and take over.

It was what he would do. Or, rather, what he would have done, before he’d started to  _ care _ . And not just about a particular blonde-haired angel. He cared about the humans too. At least, the ones he’d met so far. It was rather annoying, but Dantalion supposed things could be worse.

As much as it hurt to think about, the demon was glad he had his memories back. His short stint as a human had been confusing and painful. He’d felt weak and helpless and all sorts of other emotions he didn’t like to think about. Emotions were messy. Now that his memories were back, everything was starting to make sense again. He felt in control. He felt like he could actually  _ do _ something. Be helpful. He felt better than he ever had before.

So why did it feel like something was missing? Why did he feel like he’d forgotten something important?

* * *

No one took any notice of her. Not one angel even glanced her way as she began to roam the halls, looking and listening for some sign that plans were afoot. Why would they notice her, after all? No one expected her to be here, so they simply didn’t see her.

She’d changed her outfit, dressing in a simple grey suit, just like the millions of other angels that roamed these halls. Remiel must have passed by several dozen as she walked, and not a single one of them even glanced up at her face. Not even some of her own angels that she was sure would recognize her.

What did these angels think of her? What had Gabriel told them when he’d returned to Heaven with no sword and no Uriel? Had the other angels felt her death as deeply as Remiel had. The Archangels had been around since the very beginning. They shared a special connection - a connection that bound them together and shattered a little bit more with each tragedy that befell them.

Remiel remembered how her heart had torn in two when one of them Fell. She hadn’t been there to see it, and her memory of the event was fuzzy at best, but she remembered there had been another before Sandalphon. He had been brought in to fill the void the forgotten Archangel had left behind. 

What would happen now that a second had disappeared from their lives? Would Gabriel try to replace Uriel? Would he try to replace Remiel or Barachiel? She still had no idea where he had gone. Had Barachiel returned to Heaven or remained on Earth? Had he flown away to the stars, never to return to them? 

It was impossible to tell. Remiel could only hope she could find the information she needed in order to give her the time to make things right. Armageddon had been stopped, for now, but she wouldn’t put it past Gabriel to raze the entire Earth to the ground in a desperate ploy to satisfy his righteous fury. 

She had to do something to stop him, before it was too late. Before she lost everything that she loved all over again.

* * *

He found his answer passing by a closed office door. There were voices drifting out from the other side, voices that Dantalion suspected didn’t know they could be heard. Beelzebub and the other Dukes weren’t exactly known for their craftiness and cunning. And even if they had sensitive information to discuss, it wasn’t like them to try and hide it. The other demons in Hell knew the punishment for eavesdropping. This hallway was likely to stay completely deserted the entire time he was here, which suited Dantalion just fine.

“I don’t care if Crowley got away,” Beelzebub was buzzing, their voice echoing off the interior stone walls. “We are not going to rizzk going back up there to fetch him. Not after what happened.”

There was a pause. “We don’t really know if that was a fluke or not,” Dagon argued. “Who's to say that gunshot wasn’t just a one time thing?”

“I’m not taking the chanzze,” the Prince of Demons responded. “But you go ahead, Dagon, be my guezzt.”

“So what exactly is our plan,” Hastur’s voice huffed. He sounded much quieter than Dantalion would have expected him to. Much more subdued. Defeated, almost. Like he didn’t much care what they did anymore. Like Crowley had bested him for the last time.

“We wait,” Beelzebub declared. “Let Heaven and Earth fight their battle. Let the angelzz tezzt the theory that what happened to Uriel wazzz a fluke. If someone needzzz to fall in battle, let  _ them _ be the onezz to do so.” Silence fell over the group and Dantalion held his breath, his suspicion confirmed. Beelzebub was going to do exactly as he’d originally thought. They were going to do nothing. Wait lurking in the shadows to see what would come next. 

“We’ll be there when it’zz all over to pick up the piecezzz.” 

* * *

She found her answer passing by a closed office door. There were voices drifting out from the other side, voices that Remiel was sure only she could hear. It was a side effect of their connection, she supposed, being able to understand her siblings when even words failed. 

“It won’t work, Gabriel,” Michael was saying. Remiel could imagine them pacing back and forth across the room as they thought through everything that had happened. She could picture Gabriel seated at a table, his hands folded neatly in front of him, Sandalphon sitting quietly by his side. “There aren’t enough of us to strike everywhere at once. We don’t know if what that boy did is repeatable.”

The Archangel paused and Remiel held her breath. She hoped that these angels would be as clueless as the others that she had passed by before. Being found out now would probably be the worst possible outcome. Not when she was this close.

“If it is - “ Michael continued and Remiel could feel the bolt of fear that pierced their heart. “If something went wrong when the Antichrist reset the world, if he made it possible for  _ all of them _ to hurt us. It’s not worth the risk.”

“Agreed,” Sandalphon said, surprising Remiel. He was always so quick to agree with Gabriel. To hear the angel speaking up against him was a strange sensation. “There are seven-hundred times more of them than us. We would lose before our entire force stepped foot on Earth. Even with the element of surprise, it wouldn’t matter. There are too many of them.”

“What if we attacked all at once?” Gabriel asked. “Leveled their biggest cities. Would that be enough?”

There was silence, but only for a moment. “With what force?” Michael asked. “We have an army of angels that are trained to fight with swords. Even if they could all catch fire, that wouldn’t be enough to scratch the surface.”

More silence, but this time, it felt different. Charged with potential as the Archangels brainstormed what to do. Remiel could feel her heart pounding in her chest. It was a wonder they couldn’t feel her rising panic through the walls.

“What if we struck a different location?” Gabriel asked, his voice barely a whisper. Remiel leaned in closer, the breath still frozen in her lungs. She had barely moved a single muscle in all the time she’d been stationed outside this door. “One that would take them out of the game for good. All of them.”

“You don’t mean?” Michael sounded weak, barely able to breathe.

“I do.”

They did not speak the name out loud, but Remiel didn’t need them to. She had already come to the same conclusion that Gabriel had. There was only one place on all of the Earth that the Archangels could strike that would result in as much damage as Gabriel was talking about. One place from which all others branched from. One place all of humanity was connected to, in one way or another, even if they’d forgotten how.

_ Eden. _

* * *

It was time to get out of there. The conversation had mostly drifted to other things and Dantalion had hovered out here long enough. Any longer and he risked getting caught. He had to return to Earth safely. He had to relay the message, that Hell was not a threat for now. That they were going to wait and see what happened next. He had to get back to - 

To who? The feeling that he’d forgotten something important rose to the surface of his mind, but Dantalion pushed it down. He would have time to think about that later. For now, he needed to make his way back up to the surface.

Dantalion hurried back down the halls, heading for the main entrance. To the escalator that would take him back up to Earth. To where he needed to be.

He tried to act relaxed, tried not to draw attention to himself, but it hardly mattered. There were very few demons around, and those that he passed barely paid him any attention. Dantalion shouldn’t have been worried.

After a while, the demon stopped. He was met with a feeling so hauntingly familiar that he had no other choice. It was a gentle, warm feeling that started in his chest and flowed outward to the very tips of his fingers and toes. It was a feeling that filled his eyes with joyful tears and a longing so strong it took his breath away.

Looking around, Dantalion found himself outside of a plain wooden door, colored cherry red with a dark brass handle. Without thinking, he reached out and placed his hand on the handle, pushing it open to step inside.

* * *

It was time to get out of there. The conversation had mostly drifted to other things and Remiel had hovered out here long enough. Any longer and she risked getting caught. She had to return to Earth safely. She had to relay the message, warn the others that Gabriel was going after Eden. His plan was to burn the garden to the ground, and with it, all of humanity.

Remiel hurried back down the halls, heading for the main entrance. To the escalator that would take her back down to Earth. To where she needed to be.

She tried to act relaxed, tried not to draw attention to herself, but it hardly mattered. There were very few angels around, and those that she passed barely paid her any attention. Remiel shouldn’t have been worried. 

After a while, the Archangel stopped. She was met with a feeling so hauntingly familiar that she had no other choice but to pause in her advance. It was a gentle, warm feeling that started in her chest and flowed outward to the very tips of her fingers and toes. It was a feeling that filled her eyes with joyful tears and a longing so strong it took her breath away.

Looking around, Remiel found herself outside of a plain wooden door, colored pearly white with a bright golden handle. Without thinking, she reached out and placed her hand on the handle, pushing it open to step inside.

* * *

The door led to a large open chamber, with cherry red walls that reached up several stories, supporting a dome shaped ceiling. Around the outside of the room were dozens of identical doors, all the same cherry wood, except for their handles. Each one had a slightly different variation. Some were black, others silver or gold or bronze. Some were perfectly circular in shape while others ovular or even square. Each door had a unique handle of its own and likely lead somewhere different, although Dantalion had no idea where.

In the center of the room sat a large golden archway and two demons, cross legged on the floor on either side, rolling some sort of object back and forth between them. Dantalion paused in the doorway, looking down at them with mild curiosity. Shouldn't they be working right now? This didn’t look like any kind of torturing. Where were all the humans? And what was that  _ feeling _ that tugged at his heart with such aching familiarity? Where was it coming from?

Dantalion must have lingered for too long, because the demons in the center of the room looked up, surprised to see him there, but not startled. Instead of ducking out like he probably should, the demon pressed forward, his grey eyes drawn to the archway, emanating that familiar feeling he just couldn’t seem to place.

“Why aren’t you two working?” Dantalion asked, deciding in that moment that a strong offense was his best defense. 

“Nothing to do,” one of the demons shot back, catching what Dantalion realized to be a small lump of coal in his hands as it scooted across the floor to his left side. Neither one of them rose to greet him, which either meant they had no idea who he was, or they just didn’t care.

“Nothing?” Dantalion seemed surprised at this. There wasn’t a single human soul around that needed torturing? Not that Dantalion liked the idea of torturing humans, not now anyway. It filled him with a sense of unease. At least the humans down here deserved what they got. Probably.

“Nope,” the other demon responded, signaling to his partner to pass the piece of coal back. “Bunch of humans passed through the arch not too long ago. We’re waiting on the next batch. To arrive”

The arch? Dantalion turned to look at it, frowning. What were these demons on about?

“What’s inside?” He took a step closer. “Where did they go?”

The demons glanced at each other and shrugged. “Dunno,” one of them responded. “We’ve never bothered looking. It’s just some door that shows up sometimes. The humans walk in and we never see them again?”

Dantalion’s eyes widened. “And you never thought to tell anyone? That human souls were just up and walking away?”

Again, the demon shrugged, seemingly not too upset by the whole thing. “Why would we?” he asked, nonchalantly. “It’s been this way since the beginning. Humans die, some of them come here. We torture them for a bit, and then eventually they leave.”

A frown made its way onto Dantalion’s face. That wasn’t what he had been lead to believe. Human souls that came to Hell were meant to be punished eternally. Didn’t that mean they should stay here forever? They should. That was the only logical explanation, except…

Now that he thought about it, if the humans stayed around eternally, why wasn’t Hell’s population growing? Why did it seem that there were always enough demons to do the torturing? Over the course of human history, there were over a hundred billion people that had lived. Assuming Hell got around half of them, and every single demon worked torture constantly without stopping to fill out any paperwork, that would leave them to focus on five-thousand each.

Dantalion had only ever tortured a few dozen at a time. Not five thousand, never anywhere near that number. And he knew for certain that there were just as many demons on paperwork duty as torture duty. Hell didn’t seem overcrowded, so maybe it did make sense that some of the souls left their jurisdiction. Maybe the human souls did pass through this archway. But where did it lead? Where did it go?

There was only one way to find out. As he walked closer, the other two demons scrambled up and took a few steps back, their eyes open wide. In apprehension or admiration, he could not tell. Dantalion grew closer and a thin misty veil started to coalesce in the center of the archway, blocking his line of sight to the other side of the room.

Tentatively, the demon reached a hand out, watching as it vanished through the mist. He felt the  _ feeling _ ever stronger now, pulling at his heart, bringing tears to his eyes. An overwhelming sense of longing filled his entire being and Dantalion knew he had no choice. There was only one place he was ever meant to be.

Without hesitation, he stepped inside.

* * *

The door led to a large open chamber, with blindingly white walls that reached up several stories, supporting a dome shaped ceiling. Around the outside of the room were dozens of identical doors, all the same whitewashed wood, except for their handles. Each one had a slightly different variation. Some were black, others silver or gold or bronze. Some were perfectly circular in shape while others ovular or even square. Each door had a unique handle of its own lead to a different corner of Heaven. Dozens of paths, all leading here to the center of it all. To the broad golden archway that stood in the center of the room, covered in a layer of fine silver mist.

She knew this place. Remiel recognized it as soon as she opened the door. This was the dropoff location. This was where she took all the righteous human souls after they had passed on. After their bodies fell away, she lead their celestial forms here to this room. Then, she watched, one by one, as they entered through the golden archway across the hall. Watched as their forms disappeared into the ether, watched as they took their place in paradise.

Remiel had never been to the other side of that archway. Her duty was to transport the souls to paradise, not enter it herself. But now that she was standing here alone, the Archangel felt a pull so strong, leading her toward it. This feeling, she knew it, deep down in her very core. She wanted to be near it, close to it, she wanted it wrapped around her, like a mother’s warm embrace.

There were no rules about this. No helpful guidelines to tell he what was right and what was wrong. There was nothing preventing her from entering the archway. But wasn’t the very fact that she  _ wanted _ to sign enough? Didn’t the overwhelming longing tell her that she shouldn’t? 

Or perhaps the feeling was a sign that she should. She’d come this far, after all, and no one had tried to stop her. No one had warned her of the consequences. Maybe she was meant to enter here. She was their guardian, after all. Shouldn’t she at least know where all the human souls were destined to end up?

That settled it. She really had no choice in the matter. Taking a deep breath, Remiel stepped inside. 

She was met with only silence. A void of nothing. Not light, nor dark. Not white or black. All of the colors and none of them at all. Where she expected there to be billions upon billions of human souls that had been created, born, lived, died, and brought to Heaven, there was nothing. She had brought them here, to this very doorway and watched as they entered. Watched as they faded into the void to take their place in paradise. But now that she was inside, now that the door had been closed behind her, Remiel saw this place for what it truly was.

It was empty. Not a single spirit or soul in sight. Empty except for an achingly familiar presence that she hadn’t felt since the Beginning.

* * *

Dantalion stepped inside. He was met with only silence. A void of nothing. Not light, nor dark. Not white or black. All of the colors and none of them at all. Where he expected there to be billions upon billions of human souls that had been created, born, lived, died, and brought to Hell to be tortured, there was nothing. The demons here had watched them enter. Watched as they faded away into the nothingness, presumably to the eternal torment that awaited them. But now that he was inside, now that the door had been closed behind him, Dantalion saw this place for what it truly was.

It was empty. Not a single spirit or soul in sight. Empty except for an achingly familiar presence that he hadn’t felt since the Beginning.

* * *

There were no human souls left in all of Heaven or Hell. Every single one of them was gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was a bit of a doozie, guys. Hopefully it turned out alright and you got some sort of clarity to what is going on (along with a lot more questions, I imagine). The concept of humanity not being present in Heaven or Hell is one I've been wanting to explore for a while. There is an explanation, I promise. And we should be getting to it pretty soon. 
> 
> Up next, we'll focus back in on Crowley and Aziraphale for a bit and see what they've been up to while Dantalion and Remiel were out gathering information.


	40. Chapter 28

“What exactly are we looking for here angel?” Aziraphale heard Crowley ask from behind him as the angel crossed the threshold back into his beloved bookshop. A sigh of relief left his lips as his blue eyes scanned the room for any sign of distress. Everything was still here. There wasn’t a book out of place.

Aziraphale had been so worried that something had happened to his books while he’d been away. The last thing he remembered before chaos had taken over his life was sitting here in the bookshop with Thomas. It had been  _ days _ since that incident and anything could have happened. The angel was relieved to find that his fears were unfounded. 

“What?” Aziraphale murmured distractedly as he meandered over to his writing desk and began to look through the drawers. Nothing appeared to be taken, but it couldn’t hurt to be too sure.

Crowley stepped forward, his sudden proximity making Aziraphale’s heart dance inside his chest. The angel stopped his rummaging and stood up to his full height. He glanced up at Crowley, beaming from ear to ear, causing the demon’s face to turn a fierce shade of pink as he reached a hand up to rub the base of his neck.

For a moment, Aziraphale simply stared at the demon beside him, a soft smile still clinging to the angel’s lips. Here in the bookshop, with the dim light of the Soho lamps filtering in through the open window, turning Crowley’s hair to fire - he was the most beautiful creature Aziraphale had ever seen. What he wouldn’t give to be able to lean in and kiss the demon right now. 

_ I can do that. _ The angel was suddenly giddy with delight. He could take a step forward, close the distance between them, press his lips against Crowley’s and simply savor the moment. He didn’t have to be afraid anymore. He didn’t have to be afraid of Heaven or Hell. He didn’t have to be afraid of what Crowley might do.

He loved the demon, and Crowley loved him back. That was all that mattered in all the world.

“Aziraphale, wh-?” Crowley’s question was cut off as the angel made good on his wish. Aziraphale took a step forward and kissed Crowley without hesitation, his blue eyes fluttering shut as the sound of Crowley’s sudden rush of breath hit his ears. The demon was still only for a moment before he leaned into the kiss, bringing his hands up to Aziraphale’s face, cradling him like he was the most important thing in all creation.

Perhaps, to Crowley, he was.

“Angel,” Crowley breathed sometime later, finally pulling away from the kiss to rest his forehead against Aziraphale’s. “As much as I enjoy kissing you, and as happy as I’d be to do it all night long, you had a reason for being here, yeah?”

Aziraphale blinked, looking up at those gorgeous amber eyes. He  _ had  _ wanted to come to the bookshop for something. To look for some bit of information. What had that been? What question had wormed its way into his brain that he’d needed to step away from to try and find answers?

“Ah, right,” the angel murmured, feeling the heat rising to his cheeks. “You see, my dear, something has been bothering me for a bit about Remiel and I thought there might be something here that would help.”

Crowley’s amber eyes widened slightly as a spark of interest entered them.”Go on.” He lowered his hands from the side of Aziraphale’s face, placing them gently on the angel’s hips. The touch was light enough to allow Aziraphale to move away if he chose. As if he would ever voluntarily move away from Crowley again. Softly, the angel smiled and stayed exactly where he was.

“Well, I first suspected it when Thomas and I were hatching our escape plot, but I didn’t actually see any evidence until we were all in that room and I could watch her. She’s very good at hiding her emotions when she wants to. But I could see it in her eyes, you know.” 

Crowley frowned. “You’re gonna have to be a bit more specific, angel. I’m not quite following.”

Right. No need to dance around the bush, as the humans would say. He should just come right out and say what he was thinking.

“Remiel remembers Thomas, or Dantalion, or whoever else he is from  _ Before.” _ Aziraphale emphasized the last word, knowing Crowley would understand the significance behind it. “Maybe not everything about him, but she remembered enough to recognize him as someone important. Someone she cares about.”

The demon shrugged. “So?”

Aziraphale frowned. How did he explain this best? He wasn’t even sure if there was anything to be explained, but  _ something _ about the situation was gnawing at him. He felt like this was important, somehow. “So, it means something strange is going on, doesn’t it?” he asked. “I hardly have any memories of Before. I’ve tried thinking back - tried remembering what I was tasked to do or who I knew back then, but I come up blank every time. But Remiel remembers.”

A similar frown appeared on Crowley’s face. Aziraphale sighed. He was doing a terrible job explaining. Or perhaps the idea was so far-fetched that there was nothing to explain. “It means that there’s something to remember, Crowley. If Remiel remembers, even just a little bit, it could be a sign that something’s gone wrong. That our memories have been tampered with, somehow.” Aziraphale took a deep breath and looked back up into Crowley’s eyes. He was relieved to see that at least the demon wasn’t laughing at him. Not yet, anyway. “That they’ve been taken away.”

“Well, yeah.” Crowley responded, reaching a hand up to brush a stray curl away from Aziraphale’s forehead. The angel leaned into the touch, his heart fluttering with contentment. “Weren’t all our memories taken away?” he asked curiously. “All of the demons, anyway. None of us remember anything before the Fall. The Almighty made sure of that.”

The bitterness that crept into Crowley’s voice surprised Aziraphale, although in hindsight, it probably shouldn’t have. Of course Crowley would still be upset about what happened to him. What demon wouldn’t? He may try to make light of the situation, to claim that he hadn’t fallen so much as ‘sauntered vaguely downward’, but at the end of the day, he’d still been cast out of Heaven. And for what?

“Are you sure it was Her?” Aziraphale asked quietly in the darkness of the shop. They still hadn’t bothered to turn on the lights. Something about not wanting to draw attention to themselves, in case the shop was being watched. 

Slowly, almost imperceptibly, the demon shook his head. “No,” he breathed into the night, and the intensity of it sent shivers down Aziraphale’s spine. “But who else could it have been?”

Who else, indeed? “That’s what I came here to find out.”

Crowley looked around the room. “Do you really think you’ll find an answer here?”

To be honest, Aziraphale didn’t know. It wasn’t likely that there would be anything the humans could have written over the millenia that would give him the answer he was looking for.

Sensing his hesitation, the demon reached out and took Aziraphale’s hand in his, offering up a hesitant smile. “What’s your plan if you do find your answer, angel?”

Again, Aziraphale didn’t know. This time, he tried to come up with something. “I just want to understand,” he admitted. “Maybe, if we figure out what happened to us in the past, we can prevent something just as horrible from happening in the future.”

He paused and glanced around the shop, wondering just where he should start. What the angel wouldn’t give for a continuation of Agnes Nutter’s prophecies. They had been so helpful in the past. 

The angel turned back to his demon, their hands still resting in each others. “I don’t want there to be another war,” Aziraphale admitted quietly, thinking of all the things they would lose if either Heaven or Hell decided war was inevitable. “I don’t understand how that _has_ to be the solution, not when you and I know it’s possible to bridge this chasm between us. Not when two ‘hereditary enemies’ can become the best of friends.”

“There has to be another way.”

Crowley’s face shifted as the angel spoke, into something soft and gentle. Into something tentative and scared, and Aziraphale felt his heart leap in his chest. Whatever was wrong? He could sense the demon’s unease hovering in the air around them. No matter how much he wanted to ask, Aziraphale held back. Crowley would tell him in time. He was sure of that.

Still holding onto Aziraphale’s hand, the demon squeezed it tightly. “If there’s not,” he began, suddenly looking away from the angel like he was afraid any prolonged period of eye contact would be detrimental to what he was about to say. “If we can’t find a way to avoid another war…” the demon trailed off, free hand reaching into the pocket of his tight black pants. Aziraphale blinked, heart hammering away in his chest. He had no idea where Crowley was going with this. The suspense was slowly eating him alive.

“Angel,” Crowley breathed, finally glancing back up at Aziraphale’s face. “Aziraphale, I can’t lose you again.” The hand in his pocket shifted, but the angel did not look away from his beloved’s eyes as he waited to hear what Crowley would say. “If this all goes pear-shaped, will you run away with me?”

Finally, the free hand came into view. Aziraphale’s heart stopped beating. Pinched between Crowley’s thumb and forefinger was a simple gold wedding band.

“Alpha Centauri?”

* * *

_ If this all goes pear-shaped, will you run away with me? Alpha Centauri? _

Crowley waited, amber eyes wide, not daring to breathe as Aziraphale stood frozen in the center of the bookshop, his blue eyes staring transfixed on the golden ring in the demon’s hand. Several seconds passed by as neither one of them said a word. Crowley could feel his heart racing in his chest. How could a heart beat this quickly and still keep his body alive? He had no idea.

“What is this?” Aziraphale breathed and Crowley squeezed his eyes shut. He was an idiot, a fool to think this would be any different from the other times the demon had asked. Aziraphale had made it perfectly clear how he felt about running away, about abandoning the planet he had come to know as his home.

“I...erm.” The demon took a deep breath, willing his stomach to behave. “I noticed you weren’t wearing your ring anymore. Figured you gave it up after Heaven tried to burn you alive. Thought you might like a different one?”

It had been a stupid idea. But after Aziraphale had told Crowley how he felt, the demon had been unable to resist. He knew marriage was a very human thing. He knew that neither he nor Aziraphale needed to get married to prove how they felt. Hell, he didn’t even know if he wanted to get married. That wasn’t what this was about. All Crowley wanted in all the world was to have Aziraphale safe by his side. What better way to do that than flee to the stars when the shit finally hit the fan and their world started to fall apart down here?

Looking into the angel’s wide blue eyes now, Crowley realized he’d made a mistake. He’d moved too fucking fast  _ again _ and now he was going to lose what he’d waited so long to finally have. The demon steeled himself for the inevitable rejection that was sure to follow this torturous silence. It was only a matter of time.

_ Listen to yourself. Friends? We’re not friends. I don’t even like you. You’re being ridiculous. _

Crowley was so wrapped up in his memories, the demon almost missed the soft whispered response that accompanied his angel’s warm smile.

“Yes.”

Amber eyes flew wide as the angel reached up and took the ring from him, their fingertips brushing gently, sending a tingle of electricity up Crowley’s arm.

“What?” He must have heard Aziraphale wrong. This had to be some sort of mistake. 

The grin that appeared in his angel’s face in that moment was enough to take the demon’s breath away. Tears pricked at the edges of his eyes as Aziraphale paused, turning the ring over in his hand, observing the small etched constellations on the outer surface. The angel’s hand closed around the ring for a moment and when it opened once more, there was not one ring, but two, sitting gently in his palm.

“I believe, these customarily come in pairs, my dear,” Aziraphale’s soft words hit Crowley like a brick wall. Tears flooded his eyes as the angel reached out and slipped one of the rings onto his finger.

It fit perfectly.

“Would you - ?” Aziraphale asked quietly, holding out the other ring. Crowley blinked once, then leapt into action.

“Yes,” he breathed, taking the ring from Aziraphale’s hand before gently slipping it onto the angel’s finger.

Another perfect fit.

For a moment, Crowley stared at their hands, dumbfounded. Not daring to believe this was real. Afraid if he spoke now, the dream would be shattered.

“Are you - “ he finally said, unable to hold the question back any longer. Panic rose within him, but the demon pushed on. He had to know for sure. “Are you sure?”

Aziraphale smiled, a bit sadly. The sight of it made Crowley’s heart ache. What he wouldn’t give to make all the sorrow vanish from sight. Aziraphale was the most wondrous being in all of creation. He was intelligent and caring and so so kind. His angel deserved every bit of happiness. “My dear,” the words were breathed with such reverence, like a whispered prayer. Crowley’s breath caught in his throat at the sound. “My hesitancy to run away was never about you.”

He paused, collecting his thoughts, and the demon waited. Aziraphale’s hand in his was the only thing grounding Crowley in this moment. Without it, the demon feared he might float away and never make his way back down again. “I don’t want to run away to Alpha Centauri now, either. I  _ want _ to stay here.” The angel took a deep breath, his blue eyes shining in the moonlight. “Earth is our home. I would be so sad to leave it, but - “ Aziraphale broke off as the emotion finally caught up with him, causing the sound to catch in his throat as the angel forced back his sorrow.

“I  _ never _ want you to think that I don’t want to be with you.” A rush of emotions filled Crowley’s entire being. It was all he could do to hold himself together while he let Aziraphale finish. “I know the things I have said to you in the past have hurt you deeply. I know that when you asked me to run away with you before, all you wanted was for me to be safe.”

He paused and Crowley nodded silently in affirmation. A soft smile appeared on his angel’s lips as Aziraphale continued, giving his hand a gentle squeeze. “I want to stay here, and do all we can to protect Earth. But, if things go ‘pear-shaped’, as you say. If we are absolutely certain all hope is lost - that there is no way to save our friends, our  _ home _ , then I will run away with you. To Alpha Centauri or the Andromeda Galaxy or anywhere else you want to go.”

The angel took a step closer and pressed his hand against Crowley’s cheek, sending shivers of pleasure down the demon’s spine. “If the world turns into a ‘puddle of burning goo’ tomorrow, so long as I have you, Crowley,  _ my _ world will still be here.”

Crowley could not hold himself back any longer. He released Aziraphale’s hand and brought both of them up to cup the angel’s cheeks, pulling him in for another kiss. “I love you,” the demon murmured against Aziraphale’s lips, but was quickly cut off as the angel returned the gesture with fervor. 

The sensation of kissing Aziraphale was so refreshingly new and at the same time, so familiar it made his heart ache, as if Crowley had been created just for this. As if he and Aziraphale had loved each other their entire lives. For him, Crowley knew this to be true. Mostly. He had been in love with Aziraphale since Eden, which was basically all the life he could remember. It had taken Aziraphale a bit longer to get here, but the angel had eventually caught up. And that was all that mattered.

There were moments in Crowley’s life that felt like Deja Vu. Moments that were so achingly familiar that it took his breath away. Moments where he would look at Aziraphale with the sunlight in his hair, or the angel would say something to make Crowley laugh and he would think ‘ _ we’ve been here before’, ‘I know this. I know you. Better than I thought I did.’ _

This was one of those moments. As Crowley stood in the bookshop, gold ring around his finger, the echoes of Aziraphale’s promise in his ears, the demon swore to Heaven and Hell that he’d been here before. He’d stood somewhere, a garden, perhaps? Or a forest? Somewhere with this very angel wrapped up in his arms, promising him the world and so much more.

Maybe Aziraphale was onto something with this memory loss idea. Crowley knew his memories had been erased. He was a demon - all demons lost their memories of Heaven before the Fall. It was part of their punishment. But according to the Almighty, the angels had done nothing wrong. So, if they had known each other Before, why didn’t Aziraphale remember?

_ I will not allow Heaven to lose another Archangel. Even one was too much for us to bear. It will not happen again. _

The words echoed around in Crowley’s mind and he pulled back from Aziraphale in shock. A soft whine escaped the angel’s lips, but when he caught sight of the look that must be plastered on Crowley’s face, he immediately focused his attention.

“What is it?” Crowley heard his angel ask quietly as the demon’s thoughts began to race. Of  _ course _ . It made sense, didn’t it? The demons and angels had no memories at all of the time before the Fall. They had been left with only vague feelings of what might have been.

But the Archangels? If anyone other than the Almighty had tried to remove their memories, they might have run into problems with the Archangels - the angels that had been here since the dawn of everything. Their power greatly exceeded that of a normal angel or demon. They would have been harder to affect than everyone else. 

That had to be why Remiel remembered Dantalion. Why Barachiel remembered the lost Archangel. Some of their memories were still in tact. They had to be. Which meant that maybe, just maybe, it hadn’t been Her doing after all.

“Remiel’s not the only Archangel who remembers,” Crowley pointed out. “Barachiel does too. He mentioned something about an Archangel, didn’t he?”

Aziraphale’s eyes went wide. “Of course,” the angel breathed, squeezing onto Crowley’s hand. “He said Heaven lost one. Even  _ I _ don’t remember that happening, which means my memory of the event was taken away, but Barachiel’s wasn’t. At least, not completely.”

Crowley nodded. It made sense. The pain of losing an Archangel wasn’t something Barachiel was likely to forget, no matter what kind of voodoo witchcraft was afoot, tampering with their memories. 

Sharing a glance, both angel and demon grimaced. Their answers wouldn’t be found here after all. No bookshop could dare hold the knowledge they sought, because no human would have been around to witness it and write it down.

They had to talk to the Archangels. They were the key to all of this. Maybe by asking them the right questions, Crowley and Aziraphale could figure out what had happened over six thousand years ago. If they knew why their memories had been erased and who had done the erasing, maybe that would be enough to stop whatever tragedy was currently on the horizon, marching closer and closer to them with each passing day.

Whatever happened, they had to try. Aziraphale was right. Earth was their  _ home _ , and as happy as he was that his angel had agreed to run away with him, Crowley didn’t want to leave the planet either. He would much prefer staying here, even if it meant they had to come together and save the world one more time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> According to my calculations, we have 9 chapters an an Epilogue left. So, this story should be wrapping up in the next two weeks. I hope you all are enjoying it still! I'd love to hear what you're thinking so far.
> 
> Up next, we will be checking back in with Remiel and Dantalion, as well as some of our favorite humans! Stay tuned :)


	41. Chapter 29

Remiel had been so anxious to get back to Earth after all that she had discovered in Heaven. Now, as she sat in Anathema’s living room, the Archangel almost wished she’d taken a bit longer to return.

It was so quiet in the house. Crowley and Aziraphale had gone off somewhere while she’d been away. The four children had gone home that morning, leaving only Anathema and Newton at the house. The humans had been there to greet her when she’d returned, but several hours had passed and there was still no sign of Thomas.

Maybe, if she’d taken her time returning to Earth, this waiting wouldn’t be so excruciating.

“You can go outside, you know,” a voice behind her spoke. Remiel lowered her hand from where it was currently peeling the curtain back and turned to find Newton standing in the living room with her. He was dressed in a simple pair of jeans and a burgundy sweater that was probably a size too large for him, a gentle smile on his face. 

“It would be easier to see anyone approaching,” the man pointed out. “I could come out and keep you company, if you’d like. Ana’s busy running some errands, so I don’t have all that much to do.”

Not knowing what to say, Remiel simply nodded her head and let Newton lead the way outside. Neither one of them knew which way Thomas would approach, but considering they’d have come from the same general location and the Archangel had aimed for the front of the cottage on her return flight, it only made sense that Thomas would do the same.

If he had gotten his wings back. If he was returning at all.

“He’s going to be alright,” Newton murmured after several minutes of silence had passed between them. They had both taken up positions on the front porch, Remiel leaning up against one of the white columns supporting the tiny awning overhead while Newton had sat down in a rather uncomfortable looking wooden chair that looked as if it would fall apart at any second. 

The air outside was chilly, rushing by them, tugging at the last of the autumn leaves still clinging to the tall branches overhead. The Archangel shivered, hugging her arms close to her chest. Then, with a snap of her finger, she found herself wrapped up in a plush, woven sweater almost identical to Newton’s except hers was a soft grey rather than burgundy. Much better.

“How do you know?” Remiel asked tentatively, wishing she could have even an ounce of the faith these humans had. What was it about them that allowed them to believe with all of their hearts? Even in the face of such adversity.

“I don’t.” Newton’s response was not entirely helpful. She waited to see if he would continue. After a moment, the human took a deep breath and pressed onward. “As you probably know, I don’t know all that much about him. But he’s a demon, right? He’s spent most of his life in Hell. I’m sure he can handle it.”

Another pause. Remiel turned her head back to the bright blue skies above them, searching for any sign of black wings soaring toward her. He was going to be alright. He  _ was _ . She just had to have faith.

“You care a lot about him.”

It wasn’t a question. Remiel had no obligation to answer, even if it was. Still, this human was here by her side, trying to show her kindness in her hour of need. It couldn’t hurt to share a bit of her story with him. The bit of it that she happened to remember.

“He was the first angel I ever saw created.”

The memory was fuzzy, but it was there. Remiel knew she and the other Archangels had been created first. She remembered what it had felt like. The way their warmth had coalesced in the void. How everywhere around her was filled to the brim with love. How Uriel had spoken and their light had burst forth from them, giving them all forms for the very first time.

Remiel remembered looking around at all of her siblings with newly formed eyes. She knew that in that moment she would never care for anyone else in all of creation more than those five Archangels.

She had been wrong.

“There had been others before him,” she continued, eyes still searching the sky. “I don’t remember their names. Only his. His light was so beautiful, so pure. And his smile,” she breathed in softly, the chill in the air stinging her lungs. “It was so kind. So gentle. Every moment with him was paradise.”

More silence fell around them and Remiel finally tore her eyes away from the sky. Perhaps he would approach them from the ground instead. There was no way to know if his powers had fully returned or not. Maybe he was concerned he would be spotted if he flew back to Jasmine cottage. 

“What happened?”

The question was so soft, Remiel almost missed it. She blinked and turned back to face Newton. His face softened upon meeting her gaze and that was the last thing before her vision blurred with tears.

“I don’t know,” Remiel found herself crying. “It was so sudden. One moment, we were in the Garden and the next I was being called back to Heaven. There was so much fighting, golden fire was everywhere. I - I don’t remember how it happened or why, but a full blown war had broken out in Heaven. Angels were Falling left and right and  _ I lost him. _ ”

The Archangel took a deep, gasping breath, and rubbed furiously at her eyes with the sleeve of her sweater. The loose fabric bunched up against the bridge of her nose, revealing several lines of golden marks along her forearm. The same marks that Uriel had worn on her face. That Michael wore across their chest. Scars from the golden flames that had swallowed their loved ones whole as their wings had burned black and they’d plunged down into the world below.

“I tried to save him,” she admitted quietly, appreciating that Newton had not tried to interrupt her once as she’d been speaking. “I reached for him, through the fire, but I was too late. He was already gone.” 

It was in moments like these, when Remiel allowed the grief to overtake her, that the memories became clear. She could see it all in front of her like the event was happening all over again. The golden flames, burning into her skin. The black smoke clogging the air around her. The screams of the angels as they began to Fall. The look on  _ his _ face as he realized this would be their final goodbye.

“I tried looking for him,” Remiel admitted. “I remember looking for him as soon as the smoke had settled, but I couldn’t find him. I never understood why. I  _ knew _ him. Even as a demon, surely he wouldn’t have changed that much. I should have recognized him. I should have - “

But she hadn’t. As the pain had faded, so had her memories of him. Remiel had tried to pick up the pieces of her shattered heart and with every piece she bound together, her mind had grown foggier and foggier. There had only been so much agony her soul could take. Eventually, the Archangel had let herself be repaired. It had cost her almost everything.

“I  _ forgot _ him,” the words tumbled out before she could stop them. “For millennia. I always knew something was missing, but I didn’t know what. I didn’t have the faintest idea how to go about finding it. And then I saw him, with Aziraphale. I saw his eyes and I knew him. I knew he was the missing part of me that I was never able to find.”

“The more I’m around him, the more I remember,” a soft smile made its way onto Remiel’s face. She absentmindedly tugged the sleeves of her sweater down once more. “And the more I remember, the more it _hurts_, and the more I hate myself for forgetting.”

Newton went to stand and shuffled over to her side, holding out his arms to her. Remiel took a hesitant step forward and allowed the human to hug her, surprised at how the gesture calmed her. The Archangel took a deep breath in and tried to gather her thoughts. She should be looking for Thomas, not reminiscing over things that had happened a long time ago. Things that she had no control over anymore.

“It sounds to me,” Newton began, releasing her from the hug, “that the lot of you have been through more than anything we could ever imagine. Thomas sounds like a tough...demon. I’m sure he will be back soon. Unless…”

The man trailed off and looked down at her face, a searching expression in his eyes. “Unless you have any reason to believe something might have gone wrong?”

She didn’t. Not really. Except…

“I felt my brother’s presence. Last night, right after I - “ Remiel’s voice caught in her throat as the memory of the gun and the lifeless body entered her mind once more. “After Thomas’ mortality came to an end.”

“Your brother?” Newton seemed confused. Remiel didn’t blame him. This wasn't exactly normal conversation, was it? “One of the other Archangels?”

Slowly, she nodded. “Azrael.” She hadn’t seen him, of course. Azrael could not be seen by anyone if he didn’t want to be. But he was one of the Seven Archangels. He was connected to her, just as she was connected to all the others. She may not have been able to see him with her eyes, but Remiel had felt him there, right after Thomas’ body had faded into ash.

Newton frowned. “Isn’t that the angel of death?”

Remiel was impressed. It wasn’t exactly common knowledge to most humans, but it wasn’t like that information was heavily safeguarded either. A few hours in the library and Newton could have learned as much. “He’s one of the Archangels. The seventh of us.”

The man nodded his head like her explanation made sense, which, of course, it didn’t. He would have believed anything she told him at this point. After everything Newton had experienced in the last year, who was he to contradict an Archangel when she revealed to him the secrets of the universe?

“Is that why you’re worried?” Newton asked curiously. “Because the angel of death showed up?”

He’d hit the nail right on the head. Despite all her musings, Remiel could not figure out why Azrael had been there to greet Thomas as he died. As far as she knew, whenever an angel or demon was discorporated, they simply returned to Heaven or Hell. There was no need for the Archangel of Death to get involved, because Azrael did not hold domain over eternal beings. Only over the mortals.

Did his presence signify their plan had failed? Had Thomas really and truly become human with no hope to return to his demonic form? When she has shot him, had Remiel doomed him to an eternity in Hell,  _ being _ tortured instead of doing the torturing himself?

Before she could answer Newton out loud, the distant sound of flapping wings reached her ears. Remiel’s heart leaped into her throat and she whirled around, brown eyes darting to the sky, looking for the solitary demon that was surely on his way to her. 

Instead of one demon, Remiel turned around to find a whole flock of them descending upon the cottage like a murder of crows. There must be  _ thousands _ of them, if not more, and for a moment, a sliver of panic entered the Archangel’s chest. Then, she spotted Thomas out front, his black wings stretched wide, grey eyes fixed on her face, and she breathed a sigh of relief.

“You’re back,” she murmured, brown eyes meeting grey as Thomas landed in front of her. The other demons followed suit, quickly covering the entire front yard and several of the nearby streets.

“Yes,” he responded, with a tone that was too proper. Too detached. His unfamiliarity with her stabbed at Remiel’s heart and it was all she could do to keep from crying.

He didn’t remember her. She had been a fool to hope - a fool to believe this ploy of theirs would return his memories of  _ Before _ when even she couldn’t hold onto them for long. Would it have been too much to ask for him to at least know her as a friend? And not some strange angel he’d somehow found himself working with.

“Who - who are your friends?” Newton finally asked when Remiel struggled to find the words. All she could do was simply stare at the demon in front of her - at the face she knew was so familiar, even if she couldn’t remember it without an unbearable anguish tearing at her heart. 

“Oh,” the-demon-who-was-not-hers murmured, as if he’d temporarily forgotten about the whole army that had followed him out of Hell. “Right, well, you see…”

And then he proceeded the most ridiculous tale. How he’d gone back down to Hell to try and gather information. How he’d run across some of his former underlings while he was down there. Remiel was shocked to hear how they’d reacted upon recognizing him. 

Instead of turning him in, they’d asked to follow him. Instead of seeing him as a traitor, as a failure, they’d pledged their loyalty to him once more. ‘Wherever you lead, we will follow’ they had said. ‘If that leads us out of Hell, then that’s all the more reason to do so’.

They’d promised no harm would come to any of the humans. Promised to leave their temptations behind. ‘What’s the point?’ they asked. ‘It’s not like we’re winning any souls for Hell anyway. Not permanently.’

And that was when Remiel  _ knew _ . He had discovered what she had. But unlike the other angels, these demons knew too. They knew there were no souls in Hell. Just as there were no souls in Heaven. What was the point in staying now? If everything they did - everything they had done for millennia - was all for naught?

When he was done, Remiel looked the demon in the eyes. He met her gaze with a stoic grimace to his face, waiting for her to turn them away. It was, after all, what any other Archangel would do.

“I do have one question for you,” she began, knowing that his answer would have the power to heal her heart or shatter it all over again.

“What is your name?”

The demon was silent for a moment, a flicker of confusion flashing in his stormy grey eyes, and for a moment Remiel dared to hope. Maybe all he needed was to be in her presence. Just for a little while. Maybe his memories had come back. Maybe thoughts of her were buried inside him somewhere, too far back for him to remember right away. Maybe, she just had to give him some time.

“Dantalion,” he answered after a few more moments, the confusion fading from his eyes like a fine mist in the sunlight. 

Remiel steeled herself, forcing a smile upon her lips. “Excellent work, Dantalion.” The name sounded like fire on her tongue, burning the remnants of her heart to a crisp. “We’d best get all of you to the Tadfield airbase. There is much to discuss, I imagine.”

And before anyone could say another word, the Archangel spread her pearly white wings and took to the sky, with a flock of demons right on her heels.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright guys, if you haven't figured out who took away most of the angels' and demons' memories from Before, the next chapter should help out a bit with that...
> 
> Stay tuned!


	42. Interlude: Death Will Reign

_ In the beginning, God created the Heavens and the Earth. _

_ And on the seventh day, God rested. _

_ On the seventh day, God rested and the world went up in flames. Angel went against angel, sister against brother. They fought and they screamed and they cried. And they Fell. _

_ The dust settled and Eden still stood, a paradise amidst the pain. God rested as a serpent slithered into The Garden. God rested as the woman tasted the forbidden fruits. God rested as a heartbroken angel and a heartbroken demon stood side by side on a wall, watching as the humans fled the garden, signs of the first rainstorm rapidly approaching. The angel and the demon stood side by side - one of them mourning a lost love they could not find, the other, too ashamed of what he’d done to come forward with the truth. _

_ “Well, that went down like a lead balloon.” _

_ And so our story begins. _

* * *

_ Mayflies have a lifespan of twenty-four hours. In the time it took for eight-thousand of these cycles to complete, humanity had come a long way from the Garden that was once their home. Adam and Even had a family now, a family with over a dozen children. Children who laughed and played by the river. Children who sang songs to the stars as they huddled around a roaring fire at night. Children who never knew the Garden, and did not carry around the weight of its loss on their shoulders.  _

_ It was not paradise, but it was home. Though they could not remain in the Garden, every once in a while, they caught glimpses of Eden in their everyday lives, and it brought them hope.  _

_ They say ‘hope is fleeting’. It cannot last forever. For Adam and Eve, it lasted almost twenty-two years. Eight-thousand mayfly life cycles. Enough time for two brothers to make the journey from boys to men. Enough time for two parents to be overcome with adoration for their offspring. Enough time for love to creep in and for their hearts to be broken. _

_ The day started as many of them did. A warm sun hanging above them in the cloudless sky. One son went out to till the soil. The other to watch the flocks. Nothing was amiss. Not until the sun began to descend in the sky and Cain came to join his brother Abel in the field. _

_ What was said between those brothers in the moments to come does not matter. There is nothing Abel could have said or done that fateful afternoon to change the course of History, for Cain had already decided in his heart what had to occur.  _

_ It didn’t matter what was said. It didn’t matter what instrument Cain decided to use - whether rock or spear or cord of rope. Either way, at the end of the day, Abel was dead and Cain had murdered him. _

_ As crimson blood soaked into the dusty earth, something began to shift, change. To take root. To grow. _

_ Mayflies have a lifespan of twenty-four hours. Ants, just a few weeks. Mice can live upwards of a year. A rabbit may be lucky to see ten. Whatever way the story was spun, death was not a new thing to Earth. It had been a part of their lives since the humans had left Eden.  _

_ This death was different. All of creation felt its pain, its sorrow. Adam and Eve felt it. Cain felt it. The children felt it. _

_ And most importantly,  _ **He** _ felt it. _

_ Human blood soaked into the dry, sandy soil, and as night began to fall, the earth began to rise. It shifted and formed and fell away until a figure appeared, standing alone under the starlight.  _

_ The figure blinked its piercing blue eyes, looking around at the wasteland for the first time. He had been around since time began, but never fully formed until this moment. Not until the first human life had been snuffed out.  _

_ Blinking once more, the figure began to move, unfurling his black-as-night wings as he glided across the wasteland. Cain had already fled the scene and he knew it would only be a matter of time before angels swarmed the area, looking to bestow their divine retribution for the evil that had occurred here today. He had to act before that happened. _

_ As he approached, the figure noticed a young man stood outlined against the horizon. He was standing, head tilted upwards to the stars, a perplexed look on his face.  _

_ As if the young man could sense the figure approaching, he turned to his left, eyes widening slightly at the sight of the ebony wings. Eyes widening, not in fear, but in amazement. _

_ It would be the first and only time he was greeted this way. The first and only time humanity would not recognize Death when it came to fetch them. _

_ “Who are you?” the young man asked, his voice sounding distant and hollow, as a voice should, when it has been permanently separated from its body. _

** _AZRAEL _ ** _ the figure responded, sweeping his wings wide for the young man to see.  _ ** _I AM THE ARCHANGEL OF DEATH._ **

_ The young man frowned. “Death.” He pondered the word, then shifted his gaze off in the distance to look at the body that his brother had abandoned in his shame and fear. Slowly, Abel looked back up. “What happens next?” _

** _WE WAIT._ **

_ In the distance, thunder roared. A sign that, once again, change was coming to the world. Azrael felt it reverberating through his very core. He smiled. _

_ “What are we waiting for?” Abel asked after a while, his eyes returning to the stars once more. They were shining brightly tonight. More brightly than Azrael had ever seen them. He’d always known they were there, but seeing them for himself for the first time was another experience entirely. Being able to walk on Earth among the humans for the first time was another experience entirely. He found that he was enjoying the sensation very much. _

** _YOUR GUARDIAN._ **

_ Before Abel could ask another question, one of the stars began to glow brighter. Azrael lifted his head to watch as she drew ever closer. He knew her, but like with the stars and the earth, feeling her approach and knowing he could see her with his own eyes filled him with immense satisfaction. _

_ “Azrael,” a small angel with dark hair and gentle brown eyes landed before them. Her gaze immediately fell on Abel, a sad smile making its way onto her otherwise flawless face. _

** _REMIEL_ ** _ , he greeted her with a gentle voice. The heartache inside of the other Archangel rolled off her in waves and he wondered if it were for the human standing before her or for the angel she had lost and still could not find.  _ ** _YOUR JOB HAS BEGUN._ **

_ His sister looked over at him with tears in her eyes. The thunder grew louder and lightning cracked across the sky. Azrael had a brief image of Cain cowering against the mountainside, looking for cover, pleading for mercy. From what he could tell, Gabriel and Michael were not in the mood to grant it.  _

_ “Who are you?” Abel asked Remiel, his brown eyes just as in awe as before. _

_ She smiled at him, but it was forced. Azrael could practically see the pain of her heart bleeding through every crease on her face. “My name is Remiel. I’m an angel. I’m here to take you to Heaven. Where you will live out the rest of eternity in paradise with the one who created you.” _

_ Abel smiled back, closing his eyes as the Archangel leaned in toward him and pressed a kiss to his forehead. Gently, the human spirit began to rise into the air, floating several feet away from them, a look of absolute delight in his eyes. Only when he was out of earshot did Remiel turn and face Azrael once more. _

_ “Will they all be this terrible?” she asked, voice trembling with emotion. Azrael glanced down at her with cold blue eyes, his expression unwavering, black wings still extended fully behind him. “Is this what I have to look forward to? An eternity of this?” _

_ Azrael understood her pain. The Almighty had never mentioned this when she’d spoken to Remiel about her duty to escort human souls to the afterlife. She hadn’t mentioned a lot of things about the nature of death at all.  _

** _DEATH WILL NOT ALWAYS BE THIS SUDDEN_ ** _ , he responded, as gently as he could. It wasn’t Remiel’s fault that she didn’t understand.  _ ** _IT WILL NOT ALWAYS BE THIS CRUEL. BUT IT WILL ALWAYS BE FILLED WITH PAIN AND SORROW._ **

_ Tears streamed down her face. “How do you stand it?” And although those were the words that left her lips, Azrael heard her unspoken question loud and clear. _

_ How will I stand it? How will I survive this when my heart is already shattered beyond repair? _

** _YOU WILL FIND_ ** _ , he breathed into the night air, already starting to chill around them,  _ ** _THAT ALL MEMORIES FADE WITH TIME. SO, TOO, WILL THE PAIN._ **

_ Remiel looked at him in that moment like he’d been the one to strike her down where she stood, like he had caused the world’s first murder, instead of the older human brother. She couldn’t fathom an existence like that, one where memories faded along with the pain. To her, every wound was fresh, every new sorrow cut at her like a knife, leaving her broken and bleeding on the ground. _

_ Without another word, the Archangel took off, catching up with Abel’s spirit quickly before ushering him off this plane and onto the next. She never once looked back behind her as she disappeared from sight. _

_ One of the benefits of being born of death was that Azrael understood the fundamental truth of human life more than any of the others. He understood that while Remiel believed what she had said to Abel was true, it was anything but. Azrael knew that Abel was not going to live forever in Heaven - in paradise with The Almighty. He knew exactly what was going to happen to Abel’s soul. What would happen to all human souls, eventually.  _

_ He also knew what would ultimately happen to him. Eventually, the world would come to an end. Time would stop, eternity would reign and there would be no more need for Death, of any kind. _

_ Up until this point, Azrael had blindly accepted this fact as a truth. He hadn’t necessarily been created for a particular purpose as he’d simply filled in the vacancy that no one else wanted to take. If that meant spending six thousand years roaming the Earth, collecting human souls to be temporarily ferried to Heaven or Hell, well, he would take what he could get. _

_ Now, however? Now that Azrael had seen what existence could be with his own two eyes? He didn’t care if he had six thousand or six million years left. The Archangel of Death never wanted it to end. _

_ But what could he do? Eventually, everything would come to a head. Eventually everything would fall into place as it had been designed and this world would end. Death would be vanquished and Azrael would simply...cease to be.  _

_ How was that fair? Why did everything else in creation have a place except for him? How was he expected to go about his ‘duty’ knowing very well how it would all end for him? How was there nothing he could do to change his fate? _

_ Azrael paused in his train of thought, looking skyward once more. Perhaps there  _ was  _ something he could do after all. _

_ As Remiel and Abel disappeared into the heavens, Azrael extended his hand toward the stars. The Archangel of Death closed his eyes and remembered. He pulled not from his own memories, but from the memories of all the demons who had fallen from Heaven, from all the angels who still mourned for them. Who still searched for the ones they had loved and the ones they had lost. The ones that they could not recognize, no matter how much their hearts yearned to see what was right in front of their eyes. _

_ He felt the memories weaving their way around his fingertips, like silken fragments made of the void, shimmering like starlight as the Archangel shifted his hand. Azrael opened his eyes once more and marveled at the beauty of it, each tiny star in his hands a memory. One filled with pain and sorrow. Of love and belonging.  _

_ This. This was his answer. He could take away their memories - memories of each other, of the bonds they had formed, of the love they had shared. He could take all of it away and leave only the feeling of hate and resentment. He could make them believe they were on opposite sides, that there was no hope for reconciliation.  _

_ It would be so easy. Without their memories, the demons would believe they had been banished from Heaven. They would believe the Almighty had cast them out for all of eternity and wiped their memories clean Herself. Their guilt and their anger would fester within them and they would be unable to forgive themselves. Unable and unwilling to reunite with their angelic counterparts. _

_ And the angels - they would be unable to recall what the fighting had even been about. They would be paralyzed by fear, believing that a single step out of line would result in a one way ticket to Hell. They would become cold and distant, held back by the shadows of their grief and the fear of what might happen next. _

_ With their memories gone, Heaven and Hell would forever be on opposing sides, and Azrael would be the only one who remembered. The only one who knew the truth. The only one who remembered what The Almighty’s final commandment had been before She’d gone away. _

_ He would be the only one who even knew why she was continually silent. The only one who knew where she was.  _

_ Without their memories, Heaven and Hell would never fulfil their purpose. And without them, the world would never end. Sure, they would believe themselves to be hereditary enemies. They would eventually want a war to decide who would reign, and that was all well and good. Azrael could use that to his advantage. The day that Heaven and Hell destroyed themselves was the day Death would reign for all of Eternity. _

_ With a firm smile upon his face, his cold blue eyes twinkling with excitement, Azrael pulled. He pulled and the memories began to unravel from the inhabitants of both Heaven and Hell. In his fingertips, Azrael watched as the strands wove themselves together in a new pattern, a cloak of starlight that, once completed, the Archangel hung proudly over his shoulders. It billowed out behind him as a cold desert wind blew by, the first echoes of raindrops reaching his ears. _

_ The rain was coming. Fresh and bright and strong. The angels and demons would sense it, they would be in awe of the storm and when the sky finally cleared once more, the deed would be done. _

_ Angel and demon would remember no more. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The details about what exactly Azrael knows about the nature of human life that the others don't will come during the next interlude, so do not fear. I'm not done explaining things yet! This section was more for you to see where Azrael is coming from and get a glimpse as to what his goals are. The details about what is happening to the human souls will be explained soon. I promise!
> 
> I'd love to hear what you guys are thinking as this story comes to a close :) I'm really enjoying how things are unfolding and I hope that you are too!
> 
> See you next time!


	43. Chapter 30

They found Barachiel entirely by accident.

Their plan had been to return to the Airbase in Tadfield and talk to Remiel. She was the only Archangel currently available for them to question, even if Crowley and Aziraphale already knew most of her story. The demon assumed she would have something to tell them that was completely new, and if she didn’t - perhaps she would be able to point them in Barachiel’s direction.

Assuming he hadn’t returned to Heaven, he was their only other option. Uriel was dead. Gabriel, Michael, and Sandalphon would likely murder them on the spot, and Azrael? Well, the last time they’d seen Azrael, he’d been trying to destroy the world.

Best stay clear of him, for the foreseeable future.

There was also that issue of the missing Archangel. Crowley didn’t know how they would even  _ begin _ to tackle that issue. Best to stick with the Archangels they knew that didn’t want them wiped from existence.

Their plan had been to talk to Remiel first, but in true Aziraphale fashion, the pair had decided to stop for food before returning to the base.

“It won’t take too long, my dear,” the angel assured him, reaching out to weave his fingers in between Crowley’s. The demon’s heart leapt into his chest as he looked over at the angel standing beside him. Aziraphale beamed and Crowley couldn’t help but grin back, giving the angel’s hand a gentle squeeze. He leaned in and placed a chaste kiss on Aziraphale’s temple, trying to ignore the way his stomach was doing summersaults.

“Where to, angel?” the demon asked, looking down the lamp lit streets in front of the bookshop. “There aren’t many places open at this time of night.” He paused, pretending to check his watch, earning him a playful shove. Aziraphale’s soft laugh echoed around them and Crowley couldn’t have forced the smile from his face if his life depended on it. 

“I think our options are pizza, that Chinese place on Gerrard Street, or street tacos.”

Aziraphale laughed again. “A plate of dumplings sounds marvelous right about now.”

They took off hand in hand down the street, the light of the street lamps illuminating their path. Crowley kept his eyes fixed ahead as they walked, if only to ensure he didn’t get so distracted by looking at Aziraphale that he ran into something like a mailbox or a lamppost. His heart was racing in his chest as Crowley’s thoughts began to run away from him. 

Here he was, walking hand in hand with his angel, on their way to get a late night bite to eat. They’d admitted how they felt for each other, had kissed each other multiple times. And now…

Was this a date?

Crowley almost leapt into the air with sheer excitement. It  _ was _ a date. Their first date as a couple. Sure, a mediocre chinese restaurant traditionally open until 3am wasn’t exactly his idea of a romantic evening, but there would be time enough for that later. Once they dealt with Armageddon round two.

“Barachiel?”

Aziraphale’s voice echoed around them as the angel pulled Crowley to a stop. He was staring at a nearby cafe, one that had closed hours ago, eyes fixed on a very familiar face.

The demon almost didn’t recognize the Archangel. He wouldn’t have recognized him if Aziraphale hadn’t mentioned anything. Barachiel was seated alone on the outdoor patio, dressed in a simple pair of jeans and a faded green jacket. He looked so  _ normal _ that the demon couldn’t fathom how anyone would recognize him as a regular angel, let alone one of the Archangels.

“Oh,” the Archangel looked up, blinking his brown eyes several times. “It’s you two.” He didn’t sound upset about their arrival, nor did he sound thrilled. If anything, Barachiel sounded indifferent.

“Do you - “ Azriaphale began, tugging on Crowley’s hand, bringing them both a few steps closer. “Do you mind if we sit down?”

The Archangel didn’t answer. He simply inclined his head at the two metal chairs opposite him, eyes flickering to the intertwined fingers of an angel and a demon. Crowley stiffened, preparing himself for some sort of protest. Some comment of judgement, but it never came. Barachiel just stared at them, silent as could be. 

Crowley turned to Aziraphale as they took their seats, waiting for the angel to take the lead. What were they doing here? What was Barachiel doing here? Why hadn’t he gone back to Heaven? Why was he dressed up like a human? How long had he been here? If he had no desire to return to Heaven, why hadn’t he come looking for them?

So many questions, and Aziraphale didn’t ask a single one. The angel simply waited in silence, his hand clinging tightly to Crowley’s, blue eyes shimmering in the lamplight.

“I took her body,” he admitted finally, hands folded on the metal table in front of him, eyes studying every tiny crevice on his skin. “She’s up in the stars now.” He chuckled. A deaf man could have heard the overwhelming sadness contained in the soft sound. “I suppose they both are now. For whatever good it does us.”

Crowley could sense Aziraphale’s frown of confusion without turning his head toward the angel. It was echoed on his own face as the demon stared over at Barachiel, waiting for an explanation.

It never came.

“You mentioned before,” Aziraphale finally pressed, realizing that out of the two of them, Barachiel was most likely to talk to him. “Heaven already lost an Archangel once. I don’t - “ Aziraphale took in a deep shuddering breath, trying to steady himself. “I don’t remember much about that. Anything, actually, if I’m being completely honest…”

He trailed off, at a loss for words. Crowley didn’t blame him. The ability to care was written into the angel’s DNA. It was obvious that Barachiel was hurting, but as far as Crowley saw it, there was nothing the angel could do or say to make him feel any better. So why waste the words at all?

One long, slow breath escaped from Barachiel’s lungs. “I’m not surprised,” the Archangel said finally, looking up at them for the first time. His eyes were glistening with tears, but he held them back, jaw clenching tightly as he struggled with the words to say. “Not many of us do. Gabriel knows he existed - he was the one who chose Sandalphon to replace him, after all. I think the other Archangels are the same way. They just don’t talk about it.”

“But you do remember?” Crowley found himself asking before he could stop to think about what he was doing. “You remember him, this other Archangel?”

Instead of berating him or glaring at him or refusing to answer, Barachiel simply nodded. “Bits and pieces. More than everyone else, but less than I should, I suppose.” The Archangel looked upward at the night sky, squinting against the streetlight that was a dozen or so feet away. “He made some of the stars, you know, while the rest of us were tending to Eden to prepare for the humans to arrive.”

“He loved music. Used to hum a little tune wherever he went. And he was so inquisitive. He wanted to know all about what the other angels were doing and why.” A soft smile appeared on Barachiel’s lips, the first one Crowley remembered seeing on the Archangel. It felt familiar, although the demon could not explain why. “His favorite things on Earth were the plants. He’d spend every free moment in the garden with the other angels, asking them all sorts of questions about what they had created.”

“I remember enough about him to miss him every day.”

Crowley smiled sympathetically. He could understand that, somehow. Sure, he’d only cared enough about one creature in all of creation to miss them, and Aziraphale was sitting here right next to him. Just because Crowley was happy beside his angel now didn’t mean it had always been that way. They’d had their fair share of fights. He’d gone plenty of years without the angel, missing him like a piece of his heart had been torn away.

It may not be exactly the same thing, but Crowley knew it was close enough.

“I remember watching him Fall,” Barachiel continued, and the demon felt a shiver run inexplicably down his spine. “I watched as the fire erupted under his feet. I remember his wings burning black. The way my heart ached inside my chest. It felt like - “

“Like your heart was being shattered into a million pieces,” the demon supplied, his amber eyes staring unseeing in front of him as images of fire danced around the edge of his vision. Fire and a burning bookshop and an angel that was  _ gone _ . Nowhere to be found. “Like the pieces were being scattered to the wind and you knew deep down that there was no hope of ever getting them all back.”

A firm squeeze on his hand brought Crowley back to reality. Aziraphale was looking at him with concern written all over his face. The demon squeezed his hand back in what he hoped would be a reassuring way before turning back to Barachiel.

The look on the Archangel’s face was impossible to describe. Crowley didn’t even bother trying.

“How did you - ?” he began, but the demon cut him off.

“You aren’t the only one in all of existence that’s ever lost someone you care about,” Crowley admitted, gripping Aziraphale’s hand a little tighter. “Lots of people feel pain for plenty of reasons. Only so many ways to describe it.”

Silence fell between them again, and this time Crowley let it stay. He wasn’t going to be the next one to speak. Nope. Definitely not, when he was pretty sure he would burst out crying the second he opened his mouth. This conversation was a little bit too close for his comfort.

Sensing Crowley’s obvious discomfort, Aziraphale was the one to break the silence. “We have a theory,” the angel began, turning his attention to Barachiel once more, “about the Archangels and our lost memories. There’s something strange about the whole situation. How you and Remiel and the others likely have some memories from Before while the rest of us remember nothing.”

He took a deep breath and plunged on. “Will you come back with us to talk to Remiel? Perhaps the two of you can help us figure out enough to stop whatever tragedy is heading our way. We can’t fix what happened to Uriel,” Aziraphale amended quickly, “but we can stop that from happening to anyone else. I know we can.”

Crowley half expected Barachiel to laugh in their faces. To wave them off as two hopeless idiots that were, at best, incompetent fools. He expected the Archangel to ask the very obvious question : ‘what’s the point?’. Barachiel looked very much like Crowley had felt mere hours before the first Armageddon. He’d been ready to drink his way into oblivion, and would have if Aziraphale hadn’t shown up in that pub.

So, it was suffice to say that the demon was more than a little shocked when Barachiel made to stand, looking down at them with an obvious expectancy in his eyes, a soft, sad smile upon his face.

“Lead the way."

* * *

“I’m sorry,” Crowley was the first one to break the silence. Aziraphale felt the urge to turn toward his demon, but his blue eyes were currently locked on Remiel’s face, blown wide in shock. “But what the actual fuck did you just say?”

“Do you have to be so loud?” Dantalion asked, irritation seeping into his voice. Aziraphale finally tore his gaze away from the Archangel sitting in front of him as it drifted over to the demon beside her. The five of them were huddled in a small office - one that had likely belonged to a low level manager of some sort - as the rest of the available space had been turned into living quarters for their guests. “In case you hadn’t noticed, there are millions - with an ‘s’ -  _ millions  _ of angels and demons right outside this door who all have excellent hearing.”

It was incredible how many of them had made their way to Earth in the time since Aziraphale and Crowley had left Anathema’s house. He knew Amariel had mentioned that all of Remiel’s angels were on their way, but apparently Dantalion had managed to convince a decent number of demons to join them as well. It seemed that every hour that went by, more and more creatures of the ethereal and occult persuasion began to make their home at the Tadfield airbase.

The airbase was not designed to permanently host this many people. Impossibilities had never stopped them before, and with this many eternal beings in one place, it hardly took any effort at all to make the location comfortable for all and hidden from prying eyes. 

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Crowley snapped back, his hand tightening its grip on Aziraphale’s. The angel glanced over at him, raising an eyebrow slightly. The demon simply rolled his eyes, but continued in a quieter voice. “Next time someone tells me that all of bloody humanity is just  _ gone _ , I’ll be sure to express my surprise with my inside voice.”

Aziraphale grimaced. It sounded like a ridiculous claim, but both Remiel and Dantalion had given remarkably thorough details on the whole situation. For reasons none of them could explain, the souls that they thought had made their way to Heaven and Hell over the many centuries were no longer there. And no one seemed to have any idea where they could have ended up.

“Look,” the former Duke of Hell hissed back. “We are just as confused as you are, but based on the first part of Remiel’s story, we have bigger problems to deal with right now.”

Crowley’s amber eyes went wild and Aziraphale felt the demon stiffen beside him. “Bigger problems? Are you out of your mind?” The angel watched him lean forward in his chair, voice barely more than a whisper, but no less intense than it had been.

“What is the  _ freaking _ point of any of this if there are no humans around, huh? Why bother saving the bloody world if they’re just going to end up disappearing into nothing when they die?” Crowley was livid. Aziraphale could feel him shaking. The angel wanted to do something to help, to make his demon feel better, but what could he do? He was just a Principality. The former guardian of the eastern gate. He knew next to nothing about human souls and what happened to them after Death came to visit. 

The outraged demon leaned back in his chair, a scowl marring his beautiful face. “Just let Gabriel destroy Eden, then. What does it matter? All of us will be fine, and all of them will just go poof.” He made an exploding motion with his free hand, amber eyes widening along with his fingers. “Just like they will when they die, apparently. What does it matter if it happens now or later?”

All eyes in the room except Crowley’s turned to look at Aziraphale. Apparently, it was his job to calm the demon down. The angel supposed that made sense. He had known Crowley the longest, after all, and they were _together_ now. Aziraphale should be the one to speak up. If only he knew what to say.

“We don’t know that for sure, dearest,” he started, willing the demon to turn and look him in the eyes. Crowley stayed rigid on the chair, his gaze turned outward at the large window to his left. Two stories below them was a rather nicely decorated courtyard with several wooden benches and a koi pond in the center with a fountain that shot a stream of water nearly twenty feet in the air. Aziraphale could hear the buzz of several individuals enjoying themselves on this brisk autumn day. He was certain the courtyard hadn’t been here when they’d visited for Armageddon, which meant these angels and demons were really making themselves at home here. The thought warmed Aziraphale’s heart more than he thought it would.

“Any number of things could have happened to the human souls,” Aziraphale reasoned when Crowley did not respond. He had no clue what those things might be, but surely total annihilation wasn’t the only option. It didn’t make any sense. “We may not know what exactly it was, but I’m sure - “

“Don’t you think,” Crowley began, turning back towards the other three eternal beings in the room. “We should maybe find out the exact ‘what’ before we risk ourselves trying to save the world again?”

For the first time since Remiel and Dantalion gave their reports, Barachiel spoke. “How do you propose we do that?”

“I don’t know!” Crowley huffed, once again forgetting to keep his voice down. “Isn’t there someone up there we could bloody well ask? Like maybe the Almighty? That might be a good place to start!”

All three angels in the room shifted uncomfortably in their seats, including Aziraphale. He vividly remembered the last time he tried to contact the Almighty. It had ended in his very uncomfortable discorporation and escape from Heaven to inhabit the body of the very kind Madame Tracey. Not exactly an experience he wanted to repeat anytime soon.

“Oh,” Crowley muttered, his all-knowing amber eyes sweeping the room to look at each and every one of them. The angel felt his stomach wriggle uncomfortably when they finally came to rest on his face. Crowley’s expression softened ever so slightly, and he squeezed Aziraphale’s hand gently. “That’s right. She’s up there somewhere, too busy moving in mysterious ways and  _ not talking to any of us _ .”

When no one contradicted him, the demon rolled his eyes and turned to Remiel. “When was it?” he asked, eyes shifting over to Barachiel. “When was the last time any of you saw Her. Not just heard Her voice - “ he amended. “Not spoke to Her through the Metatron. Actually saw Her face?”

Silence.

Aziraphale shifted in his seat. He’d never actually seen the Almighty’s face before. At least, not that he remembered. The closest he’d come was hearing Her voice outside of Eden, when She’d asked him about the sword. That had been over six-thousand years ago. Surely someone else had to have seen Her since then.

“I’m going to guess,” Crowley murmured, finally dropping his voice. He leaned forward in his seat, eyes flitting back and forth between the two Archangels sitting in front of them. “That no one in Heaven has seen Her face since before the Fall. Am I right?”

They did not need to say it out loud. The look that passed between the pair of them was answer enough. 

“How did you - “ Barachiel began, his brown eyes widening, but Crowley cut him off.

“How did I know?” the demon asked. “Simple. She used to come visit us all the time, yeah? Before a bunch of us hopped on the one-way train to doomstown. But ever since we got kicked out of Heaven, it’s been Metatron-this and Metatron-that. No, you can’t talk to the Almighty now. Gotta go through Her stooge instead.”

Crowley paused, his eyes flickering over to Aziraphale. “For Someone’s sake, She wouldn’t even talk to Aziraphale on the day  _ the world was ending _ . Not even to tell us ‘Yup, this is happening whether you like it or not’ or ‘no, you’ve got it all wrong, go save the world.’ He got absolutely nothing, and my guess is She was either ignoring him, which is just rude. Or She wasn’t there to hear him. Isn’t there to hear any of us anymore.”

Something about what Crowley had just said struck a chord with Aziraphale. By the sudden look of confusion on Barachiel’s face, the Archangel had felt it too. He opened his mouth to say something, Aziraphale on the edge of his seat waiting with held breath, blue eyes wide with anticipation.

Before he got a chance to utter another sound, there was a loud shout from outside. All five of them heard it, even through the window, and a quick glance told them all they needed to know.

Two figures were locked in a vicious embrace in the center of the courtyard, each trying to either pull the other’s hair out or push the other into the center of the pond. A loud chorus of shouting surrounded them as angels and demons of all sorts rose to their feet and quickly formed a ring around the fighting pair. Demons on one side, angels on the other. The line dividing them was clearer than an ocean horizon. 

In an instant, Remiel and Dantalion were on their feet, wings outstretched, hurtling themselves toward the window. The glass vanished just as they passed through, diving toward the ground, a fierce anger present on both of their faces. Aziraphale stood up and moved to the far side of the window, pulling Crowley along with him as the pair hovered above, watching the scene play out before them.

The Archangel and Duke of Hell landed in the center of the circle on either side of the fighting pair. Aziraphale watched with widened eyes as both Dantalion and Remiel reached forward and grabbed the collar of their respective subject’s clothing, yanking them away with more force than he would have thought possible. The angel and demon stumbled backward, struggling for a moment to get away from their captors. When they noticed who had approached them to stop the squabble, both perpetrators froze in place.

“Enough,” Dantalion hissed, voice carrying further than it properly should. Before the demon in his grasp could respond, the Duke was already speaking, addressing more than this one misbehaving miscreant. “You are severely mistaken if you think this is how living here is going to work. This isn’t Hell, where you solve all your problems with a fist to the mouth.”

“Nor is it Heaven,” Remiel interrupted, earning her a sharp look from the demon standing before her. “Where you get to look down on those who you think may be beneath you.”

In that moment, a spark of understanding passed between the two leaders. Aziraphale squeezed Crowley’s hand tighter as hope flared to life in his chest. He watched the interaction with rapt attention, marveling at the energy currently passing through the air between Duke and Archangel. It was so intense, Aziraphale could almost see it shimmering in the space around them. 

Remiel smiled and Dantalion began to speak again. “If you want to stay here on Earth, you will stay in line.” He looked over at the crowd of angels that had gathered behind Remiel’s side of the fight, looking on with apprehension. “You will treat each other with respect. And if you can’t do that, the doors to Hell and Heaven are always open.”

Dantalion glanced back over at Remiel and returned her smile. He released the offending demon and took a step toward her. She met him in the center of the circle, hand already extended to meet his in a firm handshake that spoke volumes more than any handshake ever could.

“After all,” he heard Remiel continuing, her eyes fixed on Dantalion’s, like he was the only other being in all the universe. “We’re all on the same side now, aren’t we?”

“Our side.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the late update today, guys! I was home sick all day and spent most of it sleeping. Hopefully it doesn't disappoint!
> 
> The next chapter will be following Anathema's perspective as we check in on The Them and see how their 'magic' lessons are going :)
> 
> See you next time! And don't forget to leave a comment (if you want to! I absolutely adore reading them).


	44. Chapter 31

Anathema didn’t need to be able to read auras to tell that everyone at the airbase was on edge. She could barely breathe through all the tension and anxiety that permeated the air around her as she and Newton walked hand in hand through the newly renovated area. 

It had been two weeks since the incident at the bandstand. Two weeks since a host of angels had appeared on her front porch. Two weeks since Tadfield airbase had gone from a ghost town to a thriving metropolis filled with creatures of legend.

Two weeks since her friends had started hiding something from her.

Crowley was a demon. Anathema didn’t know as much about them as she probably should, but it did not surprise her to find that he was keeping some important information from her and Newton. Perhaps it was in their nature to lie, or maybe they trusted a little less easily. Maybe, if they had enough time, Crowley would have gotten around to telling them what was going on eventually, when he was ready.

But Aziraphale? Anathema was shocked to learn that the angel was keeping information from them too. At first, she brushed his behavior off as a side-effect of stress. They were all at the end of their ropes, she supposed, with more and more angels and demons arriving to the airbase every day. It wasn’t completely out of the ordinary to see the normally nervous angel a little extra jumpy whenever she approached him.

The thing that got her was his hesitancy to even talk to her. Every time Anathema approached the angel, he always found some reason to be somewhere else. Anywhere else but standing beside her, talking to her.

In their defense, Anathema wasn’t being entirely truthful with Crowley or Aziraphale either. Just because she wasn’t actively avoiding them, didn’t mean she wasn’t holding secret meetings at her cottage with The Them, teaching them to control magical powers they shouldn’t rightfully have.

Part of her had wanted to tell the angel and demon pair what they had discovered. They were her friends, after all. They’d helped each other save the world once. That sort of thing creates a special bond between individuals. But telling them now might give them false hope. She didn’t want to bring up the fact that the children  _ might _ be able to bring Uriel back until she was as sure about that fact as possible. Especially if telling her friends meant that the Archangels would find out as well.

She’d been there at the bandstand. Anathema didn’t think she would ever forget the pure anguish she’d seen on all of their faces when Uriel went down. It would be cruel of her to lead them to believe she had a solution when she wasn’t convinced it would even work.

Anathema frowned, slowing in her walk. She sensed Newton looked down at her, squeezing her hand gently, waiting for her to explain whatever it was that was on her mind. In general, Anathema tended to think better on the move. Her mind was much better suited to working out the twists and turns of her thoughts when her body was otherwise occupied with some other menial task.

Recently, they’d taken to going on walks so the woman could sort through her thoughts. Now, as they passed by the koi pond that had become the central location on the base, Anathema paused, staring down into the water, watching as the fish circled each other slowly.

Was that what Crowley and Aziraphale were doing? Were they avoiding talking to her and Newton because they didn’t want to give the humans false hope? It was obvious that something was afoot. Why else would there be so many angels and demons on Earth? Was this some kind of apocalypse round two? Was there some kind of catastrophe on the horizon that her friends were trying to solve before all life on Earth ended for good?

She wished she could be some kind of help to them. To help save the world a second time, but without Agnes’ prophecies, what was she? She’d barely done anything last time - just been in the right place at the right time. Lead the right person to play their part. 

“Alright,” Newton said finally, nudging her arm with his elbow. “I’ve let you stew enough. What gives?”

Anathema smiled at him, fondly. The previous Armageddon had been frightening, to say the least, but she wouldn’t have traded the experience for anything, as it had brought Newton into her life. Sweet, honest, caring Newton Pulsifer. Whatever would she do without him?

“I can’t help but wonder,” she began, free hand rising to fiddle with the end of her braid. “Do you think Agnes’ second book could have helped us with all of this? She must have sent it for a reason.”

Newton smiled at her and Anathema felt a warmth spread outward from the center of her chest. “I think that either way, it doesn’t matter.” Anathema cocked her head, looking up at him with obvious confusion on her face. How could it not matter? Why would Agnes write the book if doing so wouldn’t make a difference?

“Think about it this way,” Newton continued. “You said Agnes never got a prediction wrong, yeah?” Anathema nodded her head slowly, not entirely sure where he was going with this. “So say she saw this coming and wrote about it in that book. She would have probably also seen us burning said book, right? So, I think that whatever it was that she saw, if she saw anything at all, would work its way out on its own without her help. Does that make sense?”

Anathema smiled and shifted up onto the tips of her toes for a quick kiss. “Yes, yes it does.”

Thoroughly reassured that they were doing everything in their power to help with the current situation, Anathema began her walking again. She pulled Newton along behind her, eyes drifting toward the groups of angels and demons milling about. Every once in awhile she would spot some of them sitting together - a strange sight, but one that not unwelcome. Some of them sat on benches looking at books together. Others danced about in the grassy fields while one of them played guitar or hummed along.

They looked happy. Much happier than she’d ever seen either Crowley or Aziraphale look before. Anathema had gathered that the head honchos of Heaven and Hell were not the most forgiving of individuals. She could understand why her friends had been so nervous around them before, based off the first impressions she’d gotten during Armageddon. After seeing what they had been capable of at the bandstand a few weeks ago, she understood their fear even more so.

But now? With all these eternal beings around, forming this strange but wonderful community, Anathema could see that the fear had subsided some. These creatures had banded together against something truly terrible and they were learning to enjoy themselves. They were learning how to have fun and form friendships and to live life the way humans did, to a certain extent. The sight of it brought her more joy than she could have ever imagined.

She and Newton strolled along the pathway, unintentionally looping their way toward the front gate. The trees on either side of them had lost almost all of their leaves at this point and the chill in the air made it feel like their first frost could be mere days away. Anathema pressed herself into Newton’s side, careful not to put too much of her weight into him, for fear he might stumble and fall.

“I was thinking, Newton,” Anathema began, letting her mind wander from thoughts of the approaching winter to some of the festivities that traditionally occurred during this time of year. They didn’t celebrate Thanksgiving here in England, but Anathema’s family back home did. Perhaps that would be a good time to introduce them to her boyfriend. “The holidays are coming up. I wasn’t sure if you had any plans with your family, but I’m sure my parents would be delighted if you wanted to join us for Thanksgiving in California.”

Newton turned toward her and opened his mouth, likely about to respond eagerly to her invitation based on the look of pure delight on his face, when he was interrupted by the sudden appearance of four pre-teen aged children, not ten feet away from them.

By ‘sudden appearance’, Anathema did not mean that Adam, Pepper, Brian, and Wensleydale materialized out of the trees nearby. Nor did they round the corner on the path in front of them, bringing them into view for the first time. The four children literally ‘poofed’ into existence less than ten feet in front of where the couple was walking, turning to grin at them like nothing was out of the ordinary.

“Told you it would work,” Adam said, glancing back at the other three. “But you three didn’t believe me.”

Pepper simply scoffed and rolled her eyes, releasing her hands from the boys on either side of her. “Of course we believed you,” she pointed out, like Adam was some small child that needed everything explained to him. “It wouldn’t have worked if we didn’t believe it would. That’s the whole point.”

Anathema’s eyes widened as her brain caught up to what she was seeing. “Just what in the world do you children think you are doing, showing up here out of the blue like that?” Her sharp voice pierced through the cold autumn air, but the children barely reacted at all. They were all confident smiles.

“Anyone could have seen you,” she pointed out, trying to get a handle on her rapidly beating heart. Just where had they come from, anyway? Her cottage? Adam’s house? Somewhere else entirely? “How were you planning on explaining how you managed to materialize yourself here out of thin air?”

“We were going to tell them the truth,” Adam responded, his voice never wavering. “Anathema, we’re ready. We can do this.”

The witch shook her head, tightening her grip on Newton’s hand. “It’s only been two weeks,” she protested, thoughts already racing to all the things that could go wrong. “You need more time. More practice.”

“What if we don’t have more time?”

At the sound of Brian’s hesitant voice, Anathema stood down. She took a deep shuddering breath, trying to calm her nerves. Brian was right. None of them had any idea just how much was at stake here, not when Crowley or Aziraphale wouldn’t tell them. Perhaps it was time to tell their friends the truth. Maybe, if they came forward first and told the angel and demon what they knew, maybe then Crowley and Aziraphale would realize they could trust their human counterparts. Maybe they would realize the humans wanted to be a part of whatever their solution may be.

“Alright,” Anathema breathed, trying to ignore how the children’s cheers made her stomach twist inside her. “One more test, and then we go to Crowley and Aziraphale.”

“Newton,” she began as the Them took up their positions, hand in hand, standing in a circle centered on the paved road they’d been walking down. Anathema turned to face her boyfriend, heartbeat increasing with each second that ticked by. “I need you to ask them to produce something. Preferably something living, a creature that isn’t dangerous in any way.”

“Sure,” the man responded, without missing a beat. “I’d like to see a kitten, with four black paws on his feet like socks, the rest of him white, with a patch of fur on his back in between his shoulders that looks like a heart, and a black spot on his left ear. Pink nose, short fur. One blue eye. One green one.”

“Which one is which?” Wensleydale asked as all four of them shut their eyes in unison. Details were important in an effort such as this. In order for their powers to work, all four of them needed to be willing the same thing to happen. If there was any sort of inconsistency, it could through the whole procedure off.

“Uh - “ Newton only hesitated a moment before responding. “Left eye blue. Right eye green.”

“Got it,” Adam responded, his forehead scrunching in concentration. “Everyone ready?”

There was a beat of silence. Then, four child-like voices echoed around them, causing Anathema’s breath to still in her lungs as she waited. This was the biggest thing she’d ever seen them do. Newton’s very specific design meant the Them would have to create this living being on their own, not just transport a random cat that already existed here. She had faith they could pull it off, but it all seemed so wrong. Like they were messing with the laws of the universe and it was only a matter of time before someone caught them.

“One. Two. Three.”

There was no flash of smoke. No loud popping noise to announce the creature’s arrival. One moment, the ground between the Them’s feet was empty, and the next, there sat a small mewling kitten. No bigger than the size of Newton’s hand.

Brian was the first one to open his eyes upon hearing the sound. Gently, he released the hands of his friends on either side and knelt down to pick the tiny creature up. It meowed at him once more, then started to purr louder than any cat Anathema had ever seen.

A soft smile appeared on her face as the boy plopped the kitten down on his shoulder, oblivious to the tiny, needlelike nails digging into his shirt. It was the spitting image of what Newton had described, right down to the different colored eyes and tiny heart on its back. 

This was all the proof she needed, and likely all the proof Anathema would ever be able to get. The children were ready. It was time to try and bring Uriel back.

“Come on,” she said, releasing Newton’s hand and moving to take the lead. The shortest path back was one that cut through the woods on their right, heading toward the central koi pond. Crowley and Aziraphale had been holed up in the building next to it for days without coming out. If the pair were anywhere on this base, that would be the most likely place to find them. 

“I imagine we are going to have quite an audience for this.”

Sure enough, as the six humans exited the forest and climbed the hill up to the courtyard, they were met with several friendly faces, both angel and demon alike. It was strange being treated like celebrities while they were here when the creatures ogling them were ones of myths and legends. Anathema supposed she understood. Most of these creatures had probably never seen actual humans before. Or if they had, it had been a very long time since the last ones they’d interacted with.

“Can one of you go fetch Crowley and Aziraphale for us?” Anathema asked politely as the six came to a stop in front of the fountain. “We’ve got some important information to discuss.”

One of the nearby demons nodded her head, black wings materializing behind her as she took to the sky.

“Feel free to invite the others too!” the woman called after her, figuring Remiel, Barachiel, and Dantalion should see this too. Whatever  _ this  _ was.

She had faith that if it was actually possible the Them could bring Uriel back. They had been the ones to send her away in the first place, and Anathema doubted any of them could have seriously willed her to be destroyed completely. The witch knew little to nothing about alternate dimensions or cosmic energy or anything of the sort, but she  _ hoped _ Uriel was out there somewhere - close enough that she could hear the children as they called her back to Earth.

Anathema also hoped, after all this, that when the Archangel did come back, she wouldn’t want to obliterate them all from the face of the planet.

“What’s happened?” Crowley’s panicked voice echoed above them as the demon practically nose dived from a window on the second story. Anathema watched with wide eyes as he was quickly followed by three other angels and a demon, bringing up the rear.

All five of them landed nearby, scattering the other angels and demons around them. It was clear to her that this group of eternal beings had, whether with their consent or not, become leaders to the several million residents that had made their home here on this base. Every eye in the courtyard was on them, and each second brought more and more spectators, gathering around the humans like animals at a zoo.

“Nothing is wrong, Crowley,” Anathema said gently, looking up to meet the demon’s panicked gaze. She didn’t know exactly what message had been passed along, but her friend had obviously misunderstood it. “We just have something to show you.”

The demon’s amber gaze drifted from her down to the children, then back to her once more. Anathema smiled encouragingly at him and inclined her head toward the Them, who were standing patiently by the fountain, eyes trained on Adam, waiting for his cue, as they always did. 

“My powers aren’t gone,” Adam explained, smiling up at the demon beside him. Anathema watched as the boy held out his hand and was instantly joined by his friends. “We figured it out, Mr. Crowley. We figured out how to bring her back.”

And then, before anyone could say anything else, the former Antichrist closed his eyes and began to speak in a low, hushed tone.

“One. Two. Three.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wasn't expecting to get this finished today, so surprise! I hope you all liked it and enjoy staying on the edge of your seats until the next update! :)
> 
> Up next (which will probably be up sometime tomorrow because I've been dying to write it for months now) is an interlude from Uriel's perspective, where a great deal of your questions about the human souls will finally be answered... 
> 
> If you're enjoying yourself, leave a comment! Reading them is the best part of my day <3


	45. Interlude: One

She was in a void, not unlike the one she’d begun her existence in an eternity ago. It was neither light nor dark. Neither hot nor cold. She was floating in a vast space of nothingness. Her body was gone. She’d left it behind...somewhere. The exact location hardly mattered anymore. It wasn’t like she’d be needing it anymore.

With the lack of a body also came the lack of several other things. She had no eyes with which to see. No ears with which to hear. She could not taste touch or smell. She was a presence surrounded by an incomprehensible nothingness. It was impossible to tell how long she had been like this. Certainly not forever, for she had memories of another life - a life that now felt so far away. 

Time did not exist here, she knew this to be an absolute fact. How could it when she did not feel its constant methodical tick, like the pulse of her own heartbeat? No, time was not important here, in this vast expanse of nothingness, where she was entirely alone.

Except...she wasn’t alone. There was another presence here. Warm, comforting, and achingly familiar.

Memories flooded her mind, starting from the most recent and working their way backward. She was in a park, surrounded by angels and demons, a flaming sword in her hand. She was following a blonde haired angel with bright blue eyes and a smile she somehow had grown to hate. Just waiting for him to slip up so she could sweep in and dole out his punishment. 

She was surrounded by the cold white walls of Heaven for centuries, watching and waiting for her turn on the battlefield. Her turn to get back at  _ them _ for everything they had taken from her. She remembered the clash of metal on metal. Fire erupting from the ground all around as those who turned against the way of the righteous were felled from the Heavens forever.

And then she remembered  _ Before. _ Memories she suddenly knew had been lost to her for a very long time. She remembered faces that had been dear to her. Angels that she had laughed with, looked over, taught about the wonders of the world. She remembered shaping mountains and plains and teaching the birds of the air how to fly and the fish of the seas how to swim.

She remembered peace. She remembered love. She remembered the overwhelming presence that hovered in this space with her now. It was a presence she had feared she might never feel again.

_ You’re here. _ Her voice was not a voice at all, but an echo of her very soul, crying out to the one who was here with her. The one who had created her. The Almighty.

_ Yes, Uriel, my Light. I am here, as I have always been. You are here with me. _

Uriel would have cried if she had eyes with which to shed tears. It had been so long since she’d felt the Almighty’s presence surrounding her. Over the many centuries, the feeling had faded, as if she’d forgotten it. Now, in the presence of her creator, she remembered everything and the joy she felt was indescribable.

_ What happened _ ? Uriel found herself asking, reaching out to pull herself closer to the Almighty’s presence.  _ Where did you go? Why did you leave us all alone? _

_ I didn’t. _ There was an unmistakable sadness in Her voice that Uriel did not hear so much as feel within her very core.  _ Not entirely. There was a reason I had to separate myself from you and the other angels. Humanity too. But I never left you completely. You were not alone. _

_ I do not understand, _ Uriel wanted to sob. She wanted to cry out, wanted to wrap her arms around her creator and cry until she had no tears left to shed. Uriel remembered her time in Heaven  _ Before.  _ She remembered what it had been like as the skies and the seas, the mountains and the forests and the sands had been created. She remembered having a physical form and the close bonds she created with the other Archangels. She remembered watching Gabriel pulling apart the strands of sea and sky, Michael raising the first hint of green from the fertile earth. She remembered Remiel and Barachiel and how they had helped prepare for the humans to come.

And she remembered Raphael and his gorgeous shimmering night sky.

_ What do you remember of me, Uriel?  _ The Almighty asked, pulling the Archangel from her memories.  _ What was the last request I left with you? _

Uriel remembered. She remembered it more clearly than ever before. It was as if a cloud of fog in her mind had been suddenly blown away, revealing everything. She remembered watching in wonder alongside millions of other angels as the two humans explored Eden for the first time. She remembered the feeling of overwhelming love that had emanated from the Almighty as She had looked down upon her newest creation.

_ You told us that they were your child,  _ Uriel responded, hearing the words echoing in her own mind like they had been spoken only moments ago.  _ You asked for us to love them. With all that we are and everything that we have. _

Again, that soft sorrow filled the space around her. Why was the Almighty upset? What had gone wrong? Had they not done as she had asked? Had they not given the humans a place to go once they died?

_ Remember, Uriel. _

If she still had her eyes, they would have flown wide open in shock. The rest of the memory flowed into her like a rush of ocean waters. How was it that she could have forgotten so easily?  _ You asked us to love them more than you. _

This had been the start of it all. The Almighty’s final request had left them all shaken. They knew she was leaving them to watch over the humans for her. The angels had all felt the hidden ‘goodbye’ in her words, although they hadn’t understood what it meant at the time. 

On the seventh day, the Almighty rested, and the world had gone up in flames.

Some of them had seen Her final request as a test, one that only had a single solution. Two opposing sides: to do as the Almighty had asked of them, or to love  _ Her  _ with all that they were instead. Others saw the command as an impossibility, for how could they love any other than Her? The one who had created them. Angel turned upon angel, fighting for their voice to be heard. Fighting to decide the way things would be now that She was gone. Fighting to try and bring Her back.

They had fallen that day. Uriel remembered the golden flames. The holes in the space around her. The stench of burning feathers and charred wings. The Almighty had left them, and half the angels Fell, without so much as a reason why. They’d come up with their own conclusions - those that rebelled deserved to be punished. Best not to question things. Just do as you’re told.

She’d searched for some of them after the smoke had settled. Raphael had gone missing. How had she forgotten Raphael? Her own brother? And Remiel’s love, her Hadriel too. They had searched and searched but come up with nothing. The newly formed demons had been unrecognizable and none had come forward to identify themselves willingly.

Remiel had been convinced they would search forever if they needed to, and as her sister, Uriel had been by her side until...until she wasn’t. Until the memory of those who had Fallen had slipped from their minds and they had no reason to search. They had no reason to stay. So they’d returned to Heaven, to watch from afar. 

What had happened? Why had they forgotten? Why had they stopped trying to heal the hurt that had been done? Where had the Almighty been? Why hadn’t she come to help them?

_ Why?  _ Uriel asked again.  _ Please. What am I missing? I want to understand. _

There was a pause before the Almighty spoke again. This time, her voice was not gentle. This time, it reverberated with power. The same power that created angels and space and time and all of eternity.

_ I created your world as a place for Them to grow, _ She began, and Uriel knew she was speaking of the humans _ . Just as a mother shapes and molds her offspring in her womb, I too created Them in the safety of a garden. I blessed Them with pieces of myself,  _ ** _angels_ ** _ , to reside with Them and help to guide Them. To help Them mature, so that one day They could take Their place beside me. _

Uriel paused. She felt as if she were hovering over a precipice. It would be all too easy to stop here. The questions didn’t have to continue to come. She had the power to stop them, the power to wrap herself in silence and enjoy being connected to her creator once more.

A part of Uriel craved that comfort. The other part of her needed to understand. She supposed there was a piece in all of them that craved knowledge above all else.

_ You knew they would leave the Garden? _ It was inconceivable, and yet was the only thing that made sense.  _ You knew they would fall to temptation? And yet you put the fruit in front of them anyway? _

_ A child cannot remain inside its mother forever. _ Her voice echoed in the vastness surrounding them, chilling Uriel to her very core.  _ It was never about Them learning to resist temptation, Uriel. It has always been about Them learning to grow. To mature. To experience all that life has to offer, so that some day They can become like me. _

_Life consists of temptation,_ She continued, a new softness to her voice. _Both resisting it and giving in._ _Life consists of joy and sorrow, of peace and pain. Anguish, torment, exhilaration, fear, love. Life is all there is, and I desire them to know it, fully and completely._

There was something she still wasn’t grasping. How was humanity meant to know life completely? Each of their lives was different? They each had different experiences that were shaped by the circumstances of their birth. By the choices they made each and every day. How could any one of them accomplish such a task on their own?

_ This is where you misunderstand me, Uriel, _ the Almighty explained, sensing the Archangel’s questioning heart.  _ You continue to think of humanity as separate. As billions upon billions of souls to be gathered up into Heaven or Hell based on the life that they have lived. _

_ This is not the case. _

Although she had no lungs to utilize, Uriel held her breath all the same, waiting for what would come next.

_ There is only One. _

Silence fell between them as the Archangel waited for the moment. The moment where it would all come together, where everything would make sense. Surely, the Almighty was about to reveal something big, something that would tie all she had learned together, but her creator was silent.

_ One what? _

The response was immediate, as if the Almighty had been waiting for Uriel to be ready to ask the question still lingering on her heart. 

_ Humanity is One, _ she explained and Uriel could feel the energy around her vibrating with anticipation. It felt like tiny shockwaves hovering around her very existence. A mixture of chilling coldness and flashes of immense warmth, all at once. The sensations were so intense, she could barely comprehend them.  _ There is one Soul. There is one Child. There is one Life, living over and over and over again in countless different configurations. Living each and every human experience ever destined to be. They are One. And once They have lived every life there is to live, They will be ready. _

_ Ready for what? _ Uriel found herself asking, although that was the furthest question from her mind at the moment. How could this be? Everything they had been lead to believe was  _ wrong _ . What good was Heaven if there was only one soul, getting reborn over and over again? What good was Hell? How could any of this be true?

_ Ready to become like me. After They have lived every life, They will no longer be a child. They will be ready to take their place beside me. Ready to have a child of their own. _

Uriel could feel deep within her core that this was true, and yet she didn’t understand. Where was her place in all this?

_ What about Heaven? _ She asked, aware that desperation was seeping into her voice. The Archangel felt like her world was falling apart and that her entire being was currently held together with mere threads.  _ What about Hell? What are they for if not to house the souls of humanity? _

A soft smile echoed around the Archangel. She felt a sharp tug where her heart should be as the Almighty’s presence enfolded her once more.  _ Heaven and Hell are manifestations of your own making, _ she explained, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.  _ When you chose to hold yourselves back after I left, when you did not choose to live among them as I asked, when you did not love Humanity more than me, you created a place for yourselves separate from them. And when you fought over the way Their world should be, when you believed you had done wrong. When you felt you did not belong in this Heaven you had created, some of you created another place to call home. A place where the worst parts of you would thrive. Your anger and your jealousy. Your resentment for what you thought I had done to you. Your unwillingness to forgive - forgive me, forgive your brothers and sisters, and most importantly, your unwillingness to forgive yourselves. _

She remembered, oh how Uriel remembered. She remembered Before, when the Almighty had walked among them. There had been no Heaven then. No pristine white walls. No cold empty space. There had been only Earth, teeming with life. The seas and the skies and the stars beyond. Every time they looked down on the blue and green planet had been from their place in the heavens. A place where love abounded and joy was felt in the twinkle of every star. The heavens had been a place of wonders, far removed from the shadow-Heaven they had created for themselves in Her absence.

_ I asked you to love Them _ , She continued in the midst of Uriel’s stunned silence,  _ but I ask you this: How can you truly love someone if you will not stand beside them? How could you ever hope to love Them more than me from afar? _

Uriel could feel her heart crying out and knew the Almighty felt it too. She believed everything she heard to be true. Knew there was no way the Almighty would lie. But then, where did that leave her? Both angels and demons had gone against her will. Had missed the most important thing about  _ all _ of this. How? How had that happened? How was it possible that out of twenty million of her creations, not one of them had gotten it right?

Well, Uriel paused as two particular faces came to mind. Perhaps some of them had gotten it right after all.

_ How did this happen?  _ Uriel would have dropped to her knees if she’d had them.  _ How do I keep it from happening again? _

_ You must do as I asked,  _ the Almighty commanded and Uriel knew in that moment she would never do anything else in all of her existence.  _ You must love Them more than me. And you must never allow yourself to forget again. You must help the others to remember. Lead them, my Light, where they are blind. Guide them with what they must do. _

_ Yes, _ Uriel chorused with her entire being.  _ Yes, please. Let me. _

Something tugged at the corner of Uriel’s consciousness, pulling at her, calling her name. She turned uncertainly toward the Almighty.

_ You must make a choice, Uriel. _ The Archangel felt herself beginning to fade. She panicked for a moment, struggling against the thread that tied itself around her, pulling her further and further away. No! She didn’t want to go. She didn’t want to leave this place.  _ I have asked you to love Them more than me. This is your chance to do so, but the choice is yours. It has always been yours. _

Finally, Uriel understood. In that moment, she was the only one in all of creation that understood. The Archangel turned back toward the force pulling her away. The image of four child-like faces entered her mind’s eye. They stood in a circle, hand in hand, chanting her name. Pleading with her to come home.

This was her chance to make it all right. This was her choice to love Humanity more than the Almighty who had created Them. To love them with everything that she was. To do as her creator had asked of her. She had a choice. She’d always had a choice, from the moment the universe was created.

This time, Uriel would choose right. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surprise!! My D&D session was cancelled tonight, so I spent the entire evening writing this up for you readers. I hope this was able to answer a lot of the questions you've been having for the past few weeks.
> 
> This is a concept I've wanted to explore for some time now, and I'm hoping I pulled it off alright. The idea comes from a short story called "The Egg" by Andy Weir. You can find an animated reading of it here (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=h6fcK_fRYaI). I think this concept is fascinating and I thought it would be neat to try and weave it into the Good Omens universe. Hopefully, I did an ok-ish job. If you've got further questions about how this concept ties in with the story, feel free to ask them, and I will try my best to answer :)
> 
> We are quickly coming to the end of this story (I feel like it's been going on forever, haha. I will be sad to see this one go, but I've got another Good Omens writing project in the pipeline that I am very excited to start sharing with you all soon). Uriel is on her way back to Earth, and once she gets there, they just have the little issue of dealing with Gabriel and Azrael. Soon, it will be off to Eden to see how this tale wraps up.
> 
> Thanks to everyone who has stuck with me so far and for those of you just now joining in. As always, please feel free to leave some feedback for me if you feel so inclined. Reading your comments is the highlight of my entire day, I promise you that.
> 
> Chances are, I won't get anything up tomorrow, since this chapter is coming out early tonight. Expect to see the next update from me sometime Saturday.
> 
> Until then!


	46. Chapter 32

“One. Two. Three.” 

The moment the words left their lips, the space between the Them started to shimmer. Crowley watched with wide eyes as the shimmering began to glow. It started as a single white light that quickly expanded into a humanoid shape.

It was working. They were bringing Uriel back.

They were bringing Uriel back.

_ Shit _ . Crowley was moving in an instant, black wings fanning out behind him as he lunged forward. He only had two hands. Two hands with which to save them, so he grabbed the two closest to him. Brian and Wensleydale. Hopefully Adam could take care of Pepper and himself on his own.

“Crowley!” He heard Aziraphale’s sharp words as the demon pulled the two children back, effectively breaking their link with each other just as the Archangel materialized in front of the crowd that had gathered here. Crowley pulled the two stumbling boys back behind him and took a step forward, flaring his wings to keep them mostly out of sight.

He looked around at the fawning crowd. The wide-eyed stares, eyes filled with tears of joy. Was he the only one who remembered that the last time they’d seen this particular Archangel, she’d had a flaming sword in her hands?

Uriel blinked and looked around. Thankfully, she was facing toward him. Crowley flashed Adam a quick look and the boy got the message. He quickly backed away with Pepper in tow until they were up against the line of angels that had formed behind them.

It wasn’t out of harm’s way completely, but it was a start.

“Uriel,” Barachiel’s distinct voice resonated around them, and inexplicably, Crowley felt a surge of warmth in his chest. He should not feel this happy to see Uriel again. Just as he should not have been so upset to see her go. The Archangel had tried to destroy him. And more importantly, she had tried to destroy Aziraphale.

The demon watched with wide eyes as Uriel moved toward the other Archangel. His body tensed with every step that she took, waiting for the sign that she was about to strike. It didn’t matter that the only expression he saw on her face was overwhelming joy. It didn’t matter that she had no weapon to use. Crowley wasn’t going to let his guard down until he knew things were safe.

He wasn’t going to let these children get hurt. 

“Barachiel,” she breathed and embraced him. Crowley could see the tears already flowing down Barachiel’s cheeks. Remiel’s too, and he found tears of his own creeping up on him. Angrily, the demon forced them away. What in Someone’s name was wrong with him?

“You’re back,” Remiel cried, stepping forward to join them. Uriel opened her arm up and brought the smaller Archangel into the hug, their arms wrapped around each other, wings overlapping to create a feathery shelter where the three could have a moment to themselves.

While they were distracted, Crowley waved his hands toward Adam and Pepper. The angels standing behind the two children glanced at him with confusion in their eyes, but once again, Adam got the message. The demon held his breath as the two children scampered over toward him and only began to relax a little as they ducked under his outstretched wings to join the other two.

“Angel,” Crowley hissed, turning his eye towards Aziraphale who was still watching him with uncertainty. “Get. Over. Here.”

“Crowley,” the angel tutted as he made his way to Crowley’s side. “What in the world are you doing, dear? Uriel’s back. The children did it. We should be happy.”

Crowley’s eyes widened. He bit back a retort about Aziraphale being the dumbest intelligent being he’d ever met and instead brought up the very same point he’d been pondering moments ago. “In case you’ve forgotten,” he murmured, eyes flickering back to Uriel and the other Archangels present. “The last time we saw that particular angel, she had a flaming sword in her hand and was about three seconds away from chopping my wings off.”

Aziraphale stiffened and reached for Crowley’s hand. The demon gave it over gladly. He would never deny his angel this. Not when he’d waited six thousand years for any form of affection from Aziraphale. Crowley would happily spend the rest of his days with his hand in Aziraphale’s, consequences be damned. 

“Right,” the angel murmured, turning outward to face Uriel and the others just as Crowley had. His face changed in that moment and the demon had to remind himself that Aziraphale was first and foremost a guardian. He had been trained to protect the Garden and the humans inside of it. He would stand by Crowley’s side and protect Adam and his friends, no questions asked.

Finally, Uriel took a step away from the other Archangels and looked up toward them, her brown eyes lingering on Crowley’s face a few seconds too long. There were tears running down her cheeks in between the golden marks, and she was smiling, like this moment was the happiest moment of her entire life.

If that was true, Crowley might actually feel a bit bad for the Archangel.

“It’s so good to see you both,” she began, taking a step forward. Crowley tensed and flared his wings, reaching back to ensure the children were still behind him. 

“Forgive me if we don’t believe you,” the demon snarled. He couldn’t help himself. The thought of Aziraphale kneeling on the floor at Uriel’s feet, blindfolded, crying out in pain was one Crowley would never forget, even if he knew now that it hadn’t been his angel after all. “The last time we saw you Uriel, you were a bit less than friendly.”

Sadness overwhelmed her facial features and the Archangel stopped. She retracted her wings and for the first time, Crowley noticed what she was wearing. Not the traditional grey suit she’d worn before. Not a large flowing white robe. Uriel was dressed in a simple long-sleeved white dress that reached down to mid-calf. She wore no shoes on her feet and Crowley could see the golden marks on her dark skin there too. He wondered what they were from, as Uriel seemed to have more of them than any of the other Archangels he’d run into so far.

“Crowley, Aziraphale,” she started, walking forward another few steps until she was standing just a handful of feet in front of them. “I am so, so sorry for all that I have put you through.” She paused, then, to his astonishment, knelt to the ground before them. “Not just recently, but in all the years you have been here on Earth. I was wrong. So very wrong.” She bowed her head in shame.

“I ask for your forgiveness, although I know that I do not deserve it.”

A frown made its way onto Crowley’s face as he looked down at the Archangel. Uriel, asking for forgiveness? That didn’t seem like her. What had happened to her while she’d been gone? Where had she been all this time? What was it that had changed her mind about the way she’d been acting? She wasn’t just apologizing for the incident with the flaming sword. She was asking forgiveness for all of it, from the beginning. What did that mean?

Crowley shared a look with Aziraphale. The angel had been the target of her abuse for centuries, if not longer. It didn’t matter what Crowley felt in this situation. He would follow his angel’s lead.

At the soft smile he received, Crowley knew what to do. He turned back to Uriel and shrugged his shoulders. “Sure, water under the bridge, yeah? So long as you keep your flaming weapons away from us, we’re good.”

She looked up and smiled at them. Aziraphale reached out a hand to her, pulling her back up to her feet. Crowley felt a shift behind him and before he could do anything to stop them, Adam and Brian both peeked their heads out from either side of him, black feathers parting to let them see.

“Does this mean you aren’t mad at us?” Adam asked inquisitively while Brian looked on forlornly.

Uriel smiled and shook her head. “Of course not, children. I should really be thanking you for what you did.”

“Thanking us?” the hesitancy in Brian’s voice made Crowley’s stomach churn with anger. This child had been through so much unnecessary heartache. He wanted to blame it all on Uriel. She was here, after all, unlike Gabriel or Michael. But Aziraphale had wanted to forgive her, so the demon kept his big mouth shut. 

“Yes,” Uriel continued, offering up both boys a gentle smile. “You gave me an opportunity I otherwise would never have experienced. I cannot even begin to thank you enough.”

An opportunity? What was she on about?

“You’ve been with the Almighty,” Remiel breathed and Crowley’s head snapped toward her. All attention in the courtyard was focused on the same point. “I can sense her presence still lingering on you. Uriel, you found Her.”

Uriel turned to address the now murmuring crowd. Crowley just stared on in disbelief. Why now, of all times? Why did She choose to speak to them in this moment, compared to all the others where they had needed her guidance? Why had She come to one of them now and what did that mean for their future? What did that mean for what they were surely about to go up against?

“More like She found me.”

Silence fell among the crowd as both angel and demon alike fixed their undivided attention on Uriel. If what she claimed was true, she was the first of any of them to hear the Almighty since the Beginning. Based on the Archangel’s change of pace, something big must have happened during that conversation.

What was it that Uriel knew?

“I won’t go into all the details now,” the archangel announced, as if she could sense their unspoken questions lingering in the air around her. “But I do have one question to ask you.” She turned to look at all the angels and demons surrounding her. They weren’t all here, not by a long shot. But Crowley assumed this would be enough. Word of what happened here today would spread quickly. By sundown, all several million of them would know Uriel had returned.

“What was the Almighty’s final word to us?” the Archangel asked, and Crowley found himself frowning. What sort of a question was that? Hardly a fair one, at least, not for the demons. They’d had their memories wiped, hadn’t they? According to Aziraphale’s theory, so had the angels. None of them should know the answer to this question, so why was Uriel asking it?

Did she know? Was it possible that she remembered?

“She asked us to love humanity,” Uriel replied when it was clear that no one was going to provide her with the answer. No one knew. No one, except her. “More than Her. With everything that we are. Her request was the reason we fought.” Overwhelming sadness began to creep into the Archangel’s voice. Although he didn’t want to, Crowley believed it to be genuine. “It’s the reason some of you Fell. It’s the reason each and every one of you has this aching hole in your heart that you feel might never be filled.”

Crowley didn’t understand. How did she know all this? Did the Almighty really restore her memories? If so, Uriel could be their missing piece they needed. She might know the answers to their questions. She might know where the human souls had gone. She might lnow how to save Eden. She might know who had taken their memories.

“You don’t remember,” the Archangel continued softly. “But your purpose -  _ our  _ purpose has always been to love them.” She turned to smile down at the children who had made their way to stand in front of Crowley. Anathema and Newton were standing nearby too and met her gaze as the Archangel turned toward them as well. Gently, they smiled at her, and Crowley relaxed, just a little. If Anathema didn’t seem on edge around Uriel, then the Archangel was probably alright.

Probably.

“Will you stay with me?” she asked, eyes imploring those around her to listen. “Will you let Earth become your home? Will you love them with me?”

Silence echoed around them all as angel and demon turned toward one another, their eyes questioning, tension rising in the air. What Uriel asked of them went against everything they had ever known. What she’d declared, what they’d inferred, it was insanity. No hereditary enemies. No ‘us’ versus ‘them’. No war between Heaven and Hell. No Heaven and Hell at all. She was asking them to make their home here on Earth, to walk alongside humanity and watch over them. To help guide them in all of their lives.

It was insanity. But was it really that different than what Crowley and Aziraphale were doing now?

“I’m in.” 

All eyes turned toward the demon with the striking grey eyes. Dantalion stepped forward until he was standing face to face with Uriel, his black wings outstretched behind him. Uriel shifted so they were in line with each other. From her back, a pair of white wings rippled outward from their hidden plane. 

Hands reached out to firmly grip the other’s. Crowley watched a small smile appear on the Archangel’s lips, her brown eyes dancing with excitement. 

The change was subtle, so subtle at first that Crowley didn’t notice it right away. As the seconds ticked by and the silence became almost too much to bear, the demon noticed something shifting between the pair. Starting at the base of their wing joint, right where it met the shoulder blade, the feathers on both of their backs began to flutter, as if touched by an imaginary breeze. They blew upward in a wave, travelling outward until even the feathers at the very tips of their wings were fluttering up and down.

When the feathers settled once more, Crowley noticed that they had changed colors. Uriel’s back was still mostly white, now also housing a dappling of tawny and gold feathers scattered throughout. It reminded the demon of barn owl wings, only a few shades lighter.

Dantalion displayed a similar effect, although much more striking. The base color of his wings were now several shades lighter, the same stormy gray of his eyes. Brushes of blue and green and even violet could be seen in the gray as he twisted in the sunlight, trying to get a better look at this new creation.

Murmuring broke out amongst the crowd. Several voices cried out in ascent, claiming that they, too, wanted to make Earth their home. Wanted to dedicate their existence to taking care of humanity. With each proclamation came a gust of non-existent wind as black and white wings turned nearly every color but that contrasting pair, filling the area with a vibrancy never before seen by anyone on Earth.

In less than five minutes, every angel and demon in the courtyard had professed this planet as their new home and humanity as their purpose. Not one set of wings was left looking like another. 

It was the most magnificent thing Crowley and Aziraphale had ever seen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this story is a long one, so I want to give a shout out to all of you who have stuck with me as I've been writing it! I hope you all are still enjoying yourselves. I'm still having a pretty good time writing and I'm looking forward to hearing your thoughts as all of this begins to wrap itself up.
> 
> I can't tell you how much I appreciate everyone's feedback as we go along. So, please, keep it coming as these last few chapters are written and this story comes to an end.
> 
> We've got our last interlude up next - checking in on the four horsemen - and then it's off to Eden for the final showdown.
> 
> See you all soon!


	47. Interlude: The Final Preparations

In his six thousand years of existence, Azrael had never been to Hell before. He’d never stepped foot in Heaven either. As the angel of Death, his duty was not to guide the souls he gathered. He was not supposed to lead them to their final destination. He was to be an impartial judge. It did not matter to him what kind of people they had been when they were alive. Eventually all people, good and bad, arrived at the same end.

Death did not hesitate between the sinners and the saints. Azrael took them all.

There was no need for him to enter either realm. No purpose for him in Heaven, even though he was an Archangel. No desire for him to go to Hell. There were far too many entities down there anyway and not enough space for them to move around freely enough. So, for six thousand years, Azrael had remained entirely on Earth. 

Today, all of that changed.

It was unprecedented, yes, but it was necessary. Necessary for his continued existence here on this planet.

Azrael took the main entrance down, choosing to glide over the escalator, just because he could. In all honesty, the Archangel of Death could have simply materialized inside of Hell if he’d wanted to, but where was the fun in that? He much preferred the more dramatic approach.

Drama was exactly what he got. The moment Azrael burst through the double doors leading to Hell, he found himself face to face with nearly a dozen demons. Half of them scattered the moment they caught sight of his glowing blue eyes. The others remained in the room, obviously wary of his presence, but standing their ground, nonetheless.

**I AM HERE FOR LORD BEELZEBUB AND THE OTHERS. ** Azrael announced, his voice echoing across the dimly lit, grime covered room. 

Another handful of them ran off, likely going to fetch those demons he had requested an audience with. While he waited, Azrael strode to the front of the large room, up the shallow set of stairs and up to the pathetic excuse for a throne.

Without a word, he sat down.

Moments later, four demons entered the room, glancing up at Azrael as they made their way toward the throne. The rest of the demons who had remained in the room earlier fled upon noticing Beelzebub and the other Dukes approaching.

“To what do we owe this...pleazzzure, Azrael?” Beelzebub asked, their eyes shifting around the room, as if looking for someone else who might be lying in wait.  _ Demons _ , the Archangel thought wryly.  _ So mistrusting. _

**I HAVE A PROPOSITION FOR YOU,** the Archangel began, folding his gove-covered fingers together as he leaned forward in the throne, looking down on the four demons below him. He recognized Beelzebub from the first attempt at Armageddon, and Hastur and Dagon had been at St. James Park the day Hell had come to Earth to grab Crowley for judgement. 

The fourth demon was a mystery to him, one that Azrael didn’t much care to figure out.

**YOU SEEM TO BE MISSING SOME OF YOUR ACQUAINTANCES, ** Azrael mused, trying to keep the corner of his mouth from twitching in amusement. He, of course, knew where the others were. What he was interested to find out was how much the Prince of Hell would reveal to him.

“Quite a number of them have gone up to Earth,” Beelzebub answered, surprising the Archangel with their forwardness. Perhaps this was going to be easier than Azrael had originally thought. “Which you already know. So I’ll azzzk again. Azrael, why are you here?”

Azrael smiled, the dim lighting on the walls flickering around him, casting shadows onto his face. The robe of starlight he had worn since the day he had manifested into this form shimmered as it shifted around him with every tiny motion the Archangel made.  **I WANT YOU TO TAKE YOUR DEMONS AND GO TO EDEN.**

No point in holding back now. If Beelzebub wanted straightforward, that was exactly what they would get.

The Demon Prince actually had the audacity to snort at him. Azrael’s glowing blue eyes flashed in the dim light, but Beelzebub took no notice.

“Why in all of the nine circlezz of Hell would we do that?” Beelzebub asked, a hint of a smile on their face. 

Azrael smiled in return.  **YOUR PLAN IS TO WAIT EVERYTHING OUT. YOU WISH FOR THE HUMANS AND ANGELS TO DESTROY EACH OTHER.**

Beelzebub simply shrugged, as if Azrael’s knowledge of their plan was of little consequence. In their place, the Archangel would have done the same thing. A plan of inaction made the most sense here, but it wasn’t what Azrael needed them to do. He needed them to join Gabriel in the Garden.

**IT WOULD BE UNWISE TO DO SUCH A THING,** Azrael paused for a moment, relishing the look of annoyance that passed over the Prince’s face. The rest of the Dukes remained silent, waiting to see what would happen next.  **IF LEFT TO HIS OWN DEVICES, GABRIEL WILL USE THIS OPPORTUNITY TO DESTROY EDEN. THERE WILL BE NO HUMANITY LEFT TO CHALLENGE HIM.**

Beelzebub paused at this, their eyes widening almost imperceptibly. “What makezz you think Gabriel would try and dezztroy Eden?”

Azrael smiled. He had been waiting for a question like this. Slowly, so that none of them noticed anything out of the ordinary, the Archangel shifted in his seat, moving his hand to brush at his sleeve. A single speck of stardust dislodged itself at his command, fluttering to the ground before it twinkled and disappeared.

**THE LAST TIME HE LOST AN ARCHANGEL, HE WANTED TO DESTROY THE GARDEN, ** the Archangel explained, a hint of a smile in his voice.  **WHAT MAKES YOU THINK THIS TIME WOULD BE ANY DIFFERENT? GABRIEL IS NOTHING, IF NOT PREDICTABLE.**

They understood him. They believed him because Azrael had allowed them to remember, just the tiniest bit. He’d brushed the memory from his robe and had allowed it to settle into their minds. Right now, all four of them were suddenly remembering a time shortly after the Fall. Remembering how a group of angels had come to Earth looking for a particular Archangel with flaming red hair and a kind smile. Remembering how they had been unable to locate him, no matter how hard they tried.

The four demons in the room with Azrael remembered how furious Gabriel had grown. How he’d grabbed the flaming sword right out of one of the angel’s hands. They remembered how he’d flown to the center of the Garden, his cries of rage and loss echoing for miles.

None of the demons had been permitted in the Garden at that time to see what had transpired that day, when Gabriel had given up the search. All they knew was it had taken four other Archangels to convince him to leave, to finally return to Heaven. That was all the information they needed to know now to believe Azrael when he made such claims against the Archangel. 

“So, what?” This time, it was Dagon who spoke. “We head up to Earth to stop him and everyone goes home happy?”

**ON THE CONTRARY** , Azrael supplied, his hands resuming their folded position on his lap as he looked out upon the four demons standing below him.  **ISN’T THIS THE PERFECT OPPORTUNITY TO MOVE FORWARD WITH YOUR WAR?** He paused to let the words sink in.  **IT’S WHAT YOU’VE WANTED FROM THE BEGINNING, OR AM I MISTAKEN?**

He wasn’t. Beelzebub knew it. Dagon knew it. Hastur knew it. They all knew he was making a lot of sense. Too much to simply be ignored.

“What about the others?” Hastur pointed out, his face filled with rage. “The deserters. How do we know which side they’ll be on?”

Once again, Azrael smiled. This was it. The final cue he needed.

**THEY WON’T BE ON ANY SIDE,** he assured them, the confidence in his voice unwavering.  **TAKE IT FROM SOMEONE WHO HAS BEEN WATCHING THEM FOR SOME TIME. IF THEY ARE FOLLOWING THE TWO NATIVES, YOUR DESERTERS WON’T BE ON EITHER SIDE.**

It was true, to a point. Crowley and Aziraphale wouldn’t be on Heaven or Hell’s side when everything came to a point. They would be on their own side. Azrael was counting on it.

“Very well,” Beelzebub said after only a moment’s hesitation. “We shall reconzzider our courzze of action.”

Azrael stood up then, his robes flourishing in the non-existent breeze. With a sly smile that none of them could see beneath his hood, the Archangel began making his way back up to the surface once more.

**I’LL LEAVE YOU TO PLAN YOUR NEXT MOVE. DON’T TAKE TOO LONG.**

And with that Azrael was gone, gliding back up to the lobby where he’d left his motorcycle running. The robe of starlight swirled around him, clinging to his body as it morphed into more appropriate riding gear. 

Without a word, Azrael reached up to secure the helmet over his head. He swung his leg around and settled into the familiar seat, revving the engine with a satisfied smile. This was going to be one wild ride. Perhaps the wildest yet.

After all, his detour had taken up a bit of his time. The Archangel now had some catching up to do.

* * *

They came from all directions: War from the West, Famine from the North, Pollution from the South, and Death from the East, leaving a trail of destruction in their wake. None of them had ever seen Eden before with their own eyes, but that did not prevent them from knowing the Garden’s exact location. It was ingrained in them, just as all of the Earth was ingrained in them. 

Motorcycles were not designed to drive across the desert, but the Four Horsemen did not care, and so the sand did not care. The individual grains remained stationary as the black rubber tires rode overtop, quickly, smoothly, with a single destination in mind. 

Each of them arrived at their gate at precisely the same time, because they had planned it that way.

At precisely two minutes to high noon, the four of them dismounted, commanding the bikes to remain upright, even in the normally shifting sand. They each approached the gate before them, eyes alight with anticipation.

The walls of Eden still stood tall after all these years, holding back the sand and the harsh desert winds. There was not a stone out of place, and as the four horsemen arrived, they saw only a shimmering white mist layered thickly between the stone archways leading into the Garden

If any human had ever been permitted to stumble across Eden, if the Garden had not been permanently hidden from their sights, they might have stopped here. This was obviously a place of immense sacred power and should not be trifled with. It had been left alone for millennia. It was obvious to any outsider that things should continue this way.

The Horsemen were not the type to back down from a challenge. Not when this had been their goal from the very start. They were not put off by the cosmic energy that flowed around here, nor the opaque barrier that separated those on the outside from what lay inside. 

The sun positioned itself directly above them in the sky. All four took a minute to look up at the cloudless blue and the single bird flying circles in the air before turning their attention back to the swirling white mist. Now was their time.

In unison, one from each of the four cardinal directions, the Horsemen began their trek. Step by step the walked through the shifting sands and into the mist, stopping only once they reached the other side and their vision finally cleared.

“Well,” War murmured from the West Gate, her green eyes dancing around in surprise. “What do we have here?”

“What an interesting turn of events,” Famine said from the North Gate, his razor sharp teeth glinting in the harsh desert sun.

“Today is sure to be a day filled with surprises,” Pollution mused in the South, bending down to examine the ground beneath their feet. 

Death was the only one who said nothing. The only one of them who was not caught off guard by what was there to greet them on the other side of the mist. 

Now, it was time to play the waiting game. In twenty-four hours, they would all be here, and the fate of the universe would be decided once and for all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright everyone, this story should be wrapping up by the end of the week. My goal is to have it finished by Friday, but that may slide back a day or two depending on how long the final chapter ends up being (there is a chance I may split it into two. We shall see).
> 
> I hope everyone had a great weekend. Thanks so much for reading!


	48. Chapter 33

Crowley had been on Earth for over six thousand years and he could not remember a time he was more thankful for the ability to perform miracles than right now. 

They’d officially hit the halfway mark. As of sunset this evening there were just over ten million angels and demons located on Tadfield airbase. It was impossible, Crowley knew, and yet it had happened all the same. Half of Heaven and half of Hell were here on Earth. They had made their home here, claimed this place as their own, and now they were all anxiously awaiting what was to come.

A soft sigh sounded from across the room. Crowley looked up from his position on the couch, shifting his body so he was lying on his side rather than his back. It was easier to see Aziraphale from this position as the angel sat in his favorite comfy chair reading contentedly by the lamplight.

It was easy, in moments like these, to forget they were not at the bookshop. Despite the rather large volume of eternal beings currently present in this corner of the greater London area, it did not feel overcrowded. Crowley could almost forget that just on the other side of that door was a hallway lined with a dozen other doors, each housing its own individual room, designed to make the individual living there feel most at home.

“Everything alright, angel?” Crowley asked after a second sigh reached his ears. “You seem to be thinking quite deeply over there.”

“I’m not thinking,” was Aziraphale’s immediate response as he reached down with his hand to turn the page. Crowley narrowed his eyes as the sound of the obvious lie filled his ears. “I’m reading, dearest.”

Ignoring the way Aziraphale’s words of endearment made his heart flutter in his chest, Crowley sat up. “Bullocks,” he announced, the suddenness of it catching his angel by surprise. Aziraphale turned to look at him and Crowley smiled softly. “We’ve been sitting here in silence for almost an hour and this is the first page you’ve turned.”

A blush crept up to the angel’s cheeks and Crowley grinned. Gently he patted the couch beside him, and with a deep sigh, Aziraphale closed his book and made his way over to sit next to Crowley.

“You’ve been watching me?” the angel asked quietly, his blue eyes drifting hesitantly up to Crowley’s face.

Stomach churning inside of him, the demon lifted a hand to caress Aziraphale’s soft cheek, relishing how the simple touch made his angel’s breath catch. “Course I was, angel,” Crowley whispered, pulling Aziraphale closer to him. “Can’t take my eyes off of you. You’re beautiful.”

He leaned in to close the distance between them, shivering as tiny sparks of electricity traveled from the soft skin of his lips all the way to the tips of his fingers and toes. Crowley breathed in the smell of parchment and tea leaves and all things _ Aziraphale _ and the kiss that had started out soft and sweet quickly grew in intensity.

“Crowley,” Aziraphale’s breathless whisper sounded in his ear as the demon broke away and buried his face in the angel’s neck. He peppered kisses across Aziraphale’s throat and up to the base of his ear. Aziraphale’s ragged breathing only spurred him on and Crowley breathed in deeply. The scents around him were intoxicating and the demon found that he needed _ more. _

Without thinking, Crowley surged forward, pushing Aziraphale down onto the couch beneath him. The angel’s legs moved up onto the cushion beside him as Crowley gently positioned himself overtop, pulling back for a moment to gaze into his angel’s eyes, looking for the tiniest spark of hesitation.

There was none. Aziraphale was looking up at him like he’d hung the stars and Crowley found he was unable to look away. How had he gotten so blasted lucky? He was a demon, he didn’t deserve this perfection. He didn’t deserve this unadulterated _ love _. But here Aziraphale was, giving it away freely to him. No strings attached.

The angel smiled and Crowley was undone. “Don’t stop on my account, dearest,” Aziraphale murmured, reaching his hands up to weave them into Crowley’s hair, pulling with just the right amount of force. No amount of willpower could have held back the moan of pure delight that escaped the demon’s lips as his eyes fluttered shut, pleasure coursing through his entire body.

Aziraphale pulled him down into another kiss and Crowley felt the strength in his trembling arms start to fail. He lowered himself down gently on top of the angel, hands sliding up Aziraphale’s strong arms to the pulsing veins on his neck, hidden beneath layers of pale skin.

Oh, how Crowley wanted to sink his teeth into that soft flesh. He wanted to lick and suck and nibble every inch of Aziraphale’s skin. He wanted to hear Aziraphale’s breathless moans, feel the angel’s bare arm beneath his fingertips and taste the sweat beading on his throat and his stomach and his thighs. He wanted to feel Aziraphale beneath him and on top of him. He wanted to love Aziraphale in every way it was possible to love someone.

But Crowley couldn’t. He _ wouldn’t. _ He was never going to risk losing Aziraphale again. He could not go too fast this time. It had taken the angel six thousand years to even admit they were friends. It had taken them facing the punishment of Heaven and Hell _ twice _ before Aziraphale had admitted he loved Crowley. Who knew how long it would take for the angel to make the next step in their relationship. Aziraphale may never be ready to make that step.

And that was ok. Crowley could live with things the way they were now. He could live with Aziraphale’s love and affections. He could live with hand holding and kissing, and arms wrapped around each other. He could live with open glances of affection and bright, warm smiles. It was enough. Whatever Aziraphale saw fit to give him would be enough.

Whatever Aziraphale wanted, Crowley would give it to him. Anything to make his angel happy. 

A knock sounded at the door and Crowley groaned a very different type of groan. He turned to glare at the door, hoping whoever was on the other side would sense his displeasure and leave them alone. After everything they’d been through in the past few weeks, didn’t they deserve a bit of alone time?

The knock sounded again and the demon finally had enough. What could it possibly be now? Who needed to talk to them so urgently that it couldn’t wait until morning? It wasn’t like they were going anywhere anytime soon. Not with the threat of total destruction looming over their heads.

He moved to sit up, but a strong hand on the back of his head pulled Crowley down once more. Before he had a chance to comprehend what was going on, Aziraphale placed a lingering kiss on his lips, pressing their foreheads together in such an intimate way that Crowley felt actual tears beginning to fill his eyes.

“I love you, Crowley,” the angel whispered, leaning up to press one more kiss to the demon’s lips, his hands caressing the sides of Crowley’s face. The demon’s heart filled with warmth, and for a second he forgot about everything else but this gorgeous creature

“Love you too, angel,” was all Crowley managed to choke out through the emotions now swirling around in his chest. He pulled away reluctantly and sauntered over to the door, trying to force away the flush that had risen to his cheeks. 

Crowley opened the door with a flourish and found his face contorting into a sneer before he could stop himself. Dantalion was standing in the doorway, hands shoved deep into the pocket of his khaki pants, his grey eyes hesitant but unwavering.

“Is Aziraphale here?” the demon asked and Crowley nearly lost it. It took all of his willpower not to throw the former Duke against the wall and start beating him to a pulp. Crowley didn’t care if he was outmatched. He didn’t care if they were promoting peace and goodwill and all that other shit.

There was no fucking way Crowley was going to let this demon anywhere near his angel. Never again.

“Who the fuck do you think you are?” Crowley hissed through clenched teeth. Dantalion visibly flinched, but did not make a move to leave. “As if I’d ever let you near him after what you did.”

Dantalion’s hands came up in a gesture of surrender. “I know. I know,” he began before Crowley could slam the door in his face. “What I did to Aziraphale and to you was horrible. That’s why I’m here. I wanted to apologize, properly.”

Crowley’s eyes narrowed. He didn’t care if Dantalion wanted to shower them with gifts and heartfelt praises. There was absolutely no way he was getting through this door. The demon couldn’t be trusted. He had manipulated Aziraphale, had the angel dragged down into Hell and aided Heaven in trying to dispense punishment on a creature that was pure goodness. That didn’t deserve anything but the feeling of joy and love and happiness for the rest of his existence.

Sure, the demon had also helped them escape, but that didn’t excuse the things he had already done. That didn’t mean he was here to make peace. Dantalion had become a full-fledged demon again, which meant he had all of his powers back. What if he was here to steal Aziraphale back? What if he actually had feelings for the angel and wanted him back?

The demon opened his mouth to shoot back a sharp retort, but a soft presence on his shoulder stayed his response. Crowley’s heart filled with fear as he realized Aziraphale was standing right behind him.

_ No! _Crowley’s panic momentarily overtook him. All Dantalion needed to do was have Aziraphale look at him and it would be all over. His angel would be at that demon’s mercy and Crowley would lose him all over again.

“It’s alright, love,” he heard Aziraphale murmur as the angel leaned in and pressed a kiss to the base of Crowley’s ear, right over his demon mark. “Let him come in.”

Anything his angel wanted. That was what Crowley had promised, wasn’t it? With great reluctance, the demon took a few steps back, turning to give Aziraphale a soft smile when the angel slipped his hand into Crowley’s, giving it a soft squeeze. 

They settled into the couch side by side, Aziraphale extending a hand to offer Dantalion a seat in the chair opposite them. After a moment’s hesitation, the demon accepted, his eyes fluttering nervously around the room. Crowley’s eyes narrowed. What was he thinking in this moment? Was the layout of the room reminding him of Aziraphale’s bookshop? Crowley had designed it that way, to make his angel feel more comfortable since, for the time being, they couldn’t go home.

When was the last time Dantalion had been at the bookshop? The night he’d taken Aziraphale? Were those the memories running through the demon’s mind right now? Was it possible he actually felt guilty for what he’d done?

Crowley doubted it. But Aziraphale seemed to believe Dantilion’s sentiment was genuine, so the demon said nothing. Instead, he simply sat by Aziraphale’s side and waited to hear what nonsense was about to come their way.

“Aziraphale,” Dantalion began, folding his hands neatly in front of him, grey eyes falling to meet blue. Crowley’s grip on Aziraphale’s hand tightened, but neither said a word as the former Duke continued. “There are not enough words to describe how truly sorry I am for what I did to you.” The demon turned his head toward Crowley and nodded in his direction as well. “What I did to both of you.”

“I’m not here to give you excuses,” he continued after taking a deep, steadying breath. “I’m not here to explain why I did what I did. There is no reason. There is no excuse. I just wanted you both to know that the person I am now is not the same as the demon I once was. I know it may sound cliche, but I’ve changed. Because of the two of you.”

Crowley gritted his teeth and said nothing. What was there to say? All the words he had for this demon were vicious. Hateful. Dripping in venom and anger and contempt. If Dantalion was looking for forgiveness, he would not find it here.

“Dantalion,” Aziraphale began, the softness in his voice making Crowley want to scream in frustration. He knew what was coming. He knew exactly what that bastard of an angel he loved so much was going to do, and Crowley didn’t know if he could bear it. “I cannot speak for Crowley, but you have more than proven yourself in my eyes. You took the punishment intended for me. You helped free Crowley and I from the clutches of Heaven and Hell. You took on human form and chose to die for us when we needed to know more.”

This was the worst possible torture Crowley could ever have to endure. How could Aziraphale just let it go like that? How could he forgive so easily, after they’d almost been torn apart?

_ I forgive you _.

The words echoed throughout Crowley’s heart as a memory flashed before his eyes. He was standing outside the bookshop, the Bentley’s engine still growing quietly behind him. He was begging, pleading Aziraphale to run away with him._ Work with me, I’m apologizing here. Alpha Centauri? _

He’d said some awful, hurtful things back then, thinking he was about to lose the only thing he cared about in the whole world. And Aziraphale had forgiven him anyway. Maybe it was the angel in him. Maybe it was just the way he was wired. But Aziraphale had always been willing to forgive. And, in a way, so had Crowley, when the other party in question was his beloved angel.

Both sets of eyes turned to Crowley and he knew he was done for. Tears welling in his eyes, the demon forced them back down, scowling at the both of them.

“If you’re looking for some sort of sign that we’re all best friends now, you’re not going to find it here,” Crowley huffed. It was his best attempt at not completely tearing the other demon limb from limb.

Dantalion’s face fell. “I understand - “ he began and Crowley’s patience snapped clean in two.

“No, you don’t,” he snarled, ignoring the sharp look Aziraphale gave him. “You bloody well don’t understand. How could you? How could you possibly understand what it is to see the thing you love most in the entire world being ripped away from you?”

The other demon’s jaw clenched as he struggled to hold back emotions of his own. Dantalion’s hands came together in a white-knuckled grip as he leaned forward in his chair. “I may not understand completely,” he protested. “But I know what it is to love, and to feel loss. Surely that has to be enough to - “

“You have no idea what that feels like!” Crowley hissed, his amber eyes flashing in the lamp lit room. “You may think you love Aziraphale, but any emotion you associate with him was stolen from _ me. _ ” As much as he wanted to break down in that moment, the demon forced himself to go on. He had Aziraphale now. His angel loved him, and that was all that mattered. “You severed the strands of love that connected us and attached them to yourself. You tried to make him forget how he felt about me. You _ manipulated _ Aziraphale into caring for you and then you _ kidnapped _ him, locked him away in Hell and tried to CUT HIS WINGS OFF!”

Dantalion sighed, his grey eyes shimmering with tears. Good. Crowley held onto Aziraphale’s hand tighter. He should be upset. He should be hurting, after everything he’d put them through.

Crowley tensed as the demon went to stand. “You’re wrong,” he murmured, pausing for a moment to address them one more time. “I don’t know how to explain it, but this feeling in my heart tells me you’re wrong. I have loved before. I have lost. I don’t know who or when or why, but I’ve felt it. I know I have.”

And with that, Dantalion turned away. He strode back across the room, satisfied enough that he’d said what he came to say. Crowley looked over at Aziraphale who was gazing over at him with tear-filled blue eyes. He wasn’t mad, the demon could tell. If anything, his angel looked pained, as if finally realizing everything Crowley had been forced to endure these past few months - since the day Thomas Alby had appeared on the front step of the bookshop.

Dantalion paused in the doorway, as if a thought had just occurred to him. Crowley bit his lip to keep from shouting, aware that Aziraphale was expecting him to be polite. Expecting him to behave himself. The last thing he wanted to do was let his angel down. At least, not more so than he already had.

“Do either of you know anything about Azrael?” Dantalion asked, turning to face them. Despite his anger toward the other demon, Crowley responded with a gentle shake of his head.

“He’s the seventh Archangel,” Aziraphale supplied as a researcher might. Spouting facts from literary tomes rather than personal experience. “One of the four horsemen. From what I’ve heard, he keeps mostly to himself.”

“He’s a right bastard too,” Crowley added, thinking of their interaction at Armageddon. “Totally happy to let the whole world die.”

Silence fell around them as Crowley and Aziraphale waited for what came next. Dantalion stood there for a while, his grey eyes drifting to a point on the window behind them. He looked totally and completely lost in thought.

“Why do you ask, dear?” Aziraphale inquired, his use of the term ‘dear’ stabbing at Crowley’s heart. The demon did his best not to let his pain show through to his face. It wasn’t his angel’s fault. Aziraphale called everyone ‘dear’. It was part of his nature.

“Well,” Dantalion’s voice was soft, distant. Like he was trying to grab onto some elusive thought. “I was talking to Remiel earlier. She mentioned sensing Azrael’s presence the other night. Right after she’d killed my human form.”

“I suppose, that does make sense,” Aziraphale started, turning to face Crowley. Something about the look in his blue eyes made Crowley think that there was something about that particular bit of information that did _ not _ make sense at all. “It is his job to collect human souls and ready them for the afterlife. You were human for a while, at least. So it isn’t completely out of the realm of possibility he would have been there to greet you when you died.”

Dantalion nodded, but did not look convinced. “It’s just,” the demon continued, his eyebrows furrowing in concentration, gaze drifting to the floor. “I don’t remember seeing him at all. One minute I was standing in the backyard alive and the next, I was discorporated in Hell. It just - it feels like Remiel was mistaken. Or maybe I forgot?” He paused, as if the words tumbling from his mouth were finally starting to make sense.

“I _ feel _like I’ve forgotten something.”

Once again, there was silence. What else could be said? Dantalion blinked and offered the pair an apologetic smile before making a swift exit, closing the door behind him.

“My dear,” Aziraphale whispered softly once the footsteps outside their room had faded into nothing. Crowley turned toward his angel, heart hammering in his chest for an entirely different reason than earlier that evening. Mouth dry, palms sweating, Crowley’s eyes met Aziraphale’s as a knowing look passed between them.

“I think, perhaps, we’ve found the source of our missing memories.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Good news (probably)! This part of the story ended up being a bit longer than I anticipated, so I'm doing some re-configuring of how I plan to structure the ending. Don't be surprised if you see the total chapter count change a bit. The last thing I want to do is short change you guys when we've come this far. I intend to give this story the ending it deserves.
> 
> I hope you all are still enjoying yourselves :) the next chapter WILL get us to Eden. I promise. Who knows what will happen once we get there (I mean, I do, but that's not the point :) )
> 
> As always, kudos and comments are much appreciated!!! You all are the best. I'll try to get the next chapter out sometime tomorrow, but if it gets too long, that may push to Friday.
> 
> Oh, and as this story is winding down, if you are looking for something new to pick up I'd ask that you take a look at my new Good Omens fic ("Time is the Longest Distance"). It's a collaboration effort I'm doing with another member of this wonderful fandom (who is an amazing artist!) and it would mean a lot to me if you guys took a look at it :) Here's the link if you have the time!
> 
> https://archiveofourown.org/works/21414238/chapters/51020104
> 
> See you all soon!


	49. Chapter 34

Morning came and everything changed.

He had spent the entire night reading by moonlight with Crowley coiled around him, fast asleep. The angel did not sleep. He was perfectly content to sit and read his book with his demon pressed up against him, softly snoring against Aziraphale’s chest. Together, they had miracled the couch into a bed when Crowley had decided it had gotten late enough for him to want to sleep. The demon had made it large with an ornate wooden headboard and plenty of fluffy pillows for Aziraphale to prop himself up with. Aziraphale had added the tartan comforter, much to Crowley’s chagrin.

He heard the murmurings outside begin as the first rays of light began to breach over the horizon. Aziraphale placed his book gently on the nightstand beside him, careful not to move his left arm, for fear of waking Crowley. The demon had fallen asleep on his chest several hours ago with Aziraphale’s arm wrapped gently around his thin frame, and the angel hadn’t the heart to move it.

A smile began to creep across Aziraphale’s face as a beam of sunlight streamed in through the window to his left, falling onto Crowley’s hair, lighting it up like a blaze of fire. In the six months since Armageddon, the demon had been growing it out so that his hair now hung just underneath his chin. Now, as he slept soundly beside Aziraphale, a strand had fallen across his face between the demon’s eyes, brushing across his nose as it spilled onto the tartan patterned pillow beneath him.

Without thinking, Aziraphale reached out to brush the hair aside, tucking it behind Crowley’s ear. He was just so beautiful. The softness of his hair, sharp lines of his exposed jaw and neck and shoulders. The rich amber of the eyes Aziraphale knew to be hidden behind those long lashes. 

As he lay there staring at the demon, Aziraphale’s hand hovered against the strands of auburn hair, his thumb brushing gently against Crowley’s ear. How one being could be filled with so much love for another was beyond him. Aziraphale knew love, he was a being of love. But this was something completely different. This was the love spoken about in stories. The love written in poems and sonnets and songs. This love was all consuming and it was  _ his _ . The angel could have wept with joy at the thought.

The brief touch of the angel’s fingers caused the demon to stir in his sleep. Aziraphale’s heart practically began to glow as Crowley shifted his head to nuzzle against the angel’s tartan patterned pajamas, lifting the fabric up with his nose just enough so he could place a soft kiss against the hidden skin. The sensation sent tingles of warm energy down Aziraphale’s spine and he shuddered with delight.

“Warm,” Crowley mumbled, eyes still shut tight as he tucked his legs up closer to his torso and pressed his face into Azriaphale’s plush stomach. The angel smiled and hugged his love closer, leaning down to press a kiss against Crowley’s forehead. Amber eyes fluttered open and fixed their gaze on Aziraphale. A gentle warmth spread through the angel’s entire body as a soft smile lit up Crowley’s face.

“Good morning, love,” Aziraphale murmured as he shifted down under the covers until his face was level with Crowley’s. He smiled back and shifted his hand so it was caressing the pale skin of the demon’s cheek. A rush of air sounded nearby as Crowley breathed in deeply, eyes fluttering shut once more. Before he could open them again, Aziraphale drew closer to the demon and pressed their lips together in a soft, loving kiss.

“Morning,” Crowley mumbled when the angel finally pulled back. Aziraphale laughed as the demon buried his face in the warmth of Aziraphale’s chest. He could stay here forever by Crowley’s side and be completely content.

Unfortunately for them, some of the other angels and demons had other plans. The chatter that had started out as a low murmur outside their window was now a dull roar. Crowley groaned as they began to hear distinct voices rise above the noise and Aziraphale knew their peaceful morning was about to come to an end.

“We should probably go out there,” Aziraphale nudged, gently running his fingers through Crowley’s miraculously tangle-free hair. “See what all the hullabaloo is about.”

The demon beside him scoffed, but Aziraphale could see the smile still resting on his lips. “Fine. But you owe me, angel. When this bloody mess is all cleaned up, I want you all to myself. For  _ more _ than just a couple of hours.”

Aziraphale chuckled and leaned in to kiss Crowley once more. “I think that can be arranged, my dear.”

With a snap of their fingers, the bed had been turned back into a couch and both beings were dressed in their normal attire. Aziraphale reached down to straighten his vest and looked up to see Crowley combing his fingers through his hair, pulling the top half up away from his eyes before securing it with a black hairband.

“Shall we?” The demon asked, turning toward him to offer up his arm. Aziraphale took it with a happy smile, allowing the love to overflow from his heart and course throughout his entire body. 

They arrived in the courtyard to find hundreds of beings crowded around a single angel. She looked entirely out of place among the rest of the crowd. Those that had claimed Earth as their home had gotten into the habit of wearing normal human clothing. Just like their newly formed wings, each one of them had their own unique style. This angel looked like one from a book or painting. She had long golden hair, a pair of pure white wings, and was wearing a traditional robe that seemed to flutter about her even though there was no breeze.

“Who’s that?” Crowley asked, leaning in close enough so that Aziraphale could feel the warm breath against his neck. The angel shivered, trying to keep his attention on the scene unfolding in front of them.

“I’m not sure,” Aziraphale responded, his blue eyes dancing over the rest of the crowd that had gathered around them. It was obvious that to some of them, she carried some importance, although Aziraphale was sure he’d never met her before. He spotted Amarial across the way and attempted to make eye contact, but the angel did not look his way. Amariel’s attention was entirely fixed on the newcomer.

“Aziraphale!” Remiel’s voice rang out over the crowd, causing the angel to turn his attention to her. Several other heads turned toward him and the beings nearby immediately moved to the side to give him and Crowley a path to walk through. “Crowley. Good. You’re here.”

The way she addressed them made the angel feel like things might be a bit less than ‘good’.

“Mind explaining what’s going on?” Crowley asked. Aziraphale noticed that while his words could have been construed as rude, the demon actually spoke in a rather respectful tone.

Remiel reached out her arm and ushered the newcomer toward them. The angel slid her green-eyed gaze over the pair of them, arms still linked together, then smiled softly. Hesitantly. Almost as if she were apologizing for her presence there with them.

“This is Nuriel,” Remiel explained, as if the name alone would give Aziraphale and Crowley all the context they needed to make sense of the situation. When they said nothing, the Archangel continued. “She was my last angel stationed in Heaven.”

Better, but still not enough information for Aziraphale to understand why everyone was reacting to her arrival. There were still plenty of other angels still in Heaven. What was the big deal about this one?

“I stayed behind on purpose,” Nuriel responded, answering his unspoken question. “To keep an eye on Gabriel and the other Archangels. It’s time.”

Aziraphale’s blood ran cold. It was smart of Remiel to ask one of her angels to stay. He was thankful for Nuriel, even if her presence here this morning could only mean one thing. Today was the day. Gabriel was making his move on Eden.

Up until this point, everything had seemed like a far off dream. Aziraphale knew they would have to face down the Archangel some day, but there was no way to know when. Now, everything was finally coming together. He glanced over at Crowley, heart hammering in his chest at the thought that this was real. Gabriel was really going to do it and they were really going to have to stop him.

It was Armageddon round two, and he wasn’t ready. Aziraphale would never be ready to face down the end of the world. Not when doing so meant he could lose the only thing that mattered to him in all of existence. 

Not when he could lose Crowley.

“We’re working to gather everyone together,” Remiel announced at his obvious silence. “Barachiel and Dantalion went to gather those in the barracks further away. They should be back soon.”

Aziraphale simply nodded his head, mouth suddenly becoming very dry. His grip on Crowley’s arm tightening as the angel’s thoughts began to run away from him.

“Hey.”

Crowley’s soft voice pulled Aziraphale out of his own mind. He turned to look at his demon and smiled, eyes fixating on the way his golden eyes seemed to glow in the sunlight. “We’re going to be fine, angel,” Crowley assured him. “I promise.”

A deep breath escaped Aziraphale’s lungs. How he wished he could have as much faith as Crowley. “How do you know?”

He was met with a cheeky grin that lit up Aziraphale’s heart like the blaze of a bonfire. “I waited six thousand bloody years for you to be mine, angel,” he whispered in the space between them so that no one else would hear. “You think I’m going to give that up without a fight?”

Aziraphale smiled through his fear and turned to look back at Remiel. She had taken a few steps back, moving herself to the side of the crowd where, hopefully, she would have a moment to breath. Quietly, so as not to draw attention to them, Aziraphale pulled Crowley back until they were standing right by her side. Remiel looked up at him and smiled, though the warmth of it did not reach her eyes.

“How are you, my dear?” Aziraphale asked softly as Crowley shifted impatiently beside him. From the corner of his eye, the angel could tell his demon was looking for someone, although he didn’t know who. The neck craning and standing on the tips of his toes made his intentions obvious. Aziraphale couldn’t see how anyone could be found in this mess. In the short amount of time they’d been outside, the whole area had been filled with demons and angels alike. By now, the roar was practically deafening.

“I’ve been better,” Remiel responded, her eyes drifting skyward. It would appear that she, too, was on the lookout for someone. Aziraphale could hazard a guess as to who it was.

“Are things with him not going well?” the angel asked, aware that the situation between Remiel and Dantalion was none of his business. He cared too much not to ask. It was up to Remiel whether to respond or not.

To his surprise she did. With a heavy sigh, the Archangel tore her eyes away from the scattered clouds above them and settled them on Aziraphale’s face. “He doesn’t remember me, Aziraphale,” she began. For once, her eyes were dry and the angel felt his stomach drop. Surely Remiel hadn’t given up yet, had she? From what he’d been able to piece together, she had loved Dantalion since the beginning. That had to mean something, didn’t it? That she’d held him in her heart all these years? That she hadn’t forgotten him, even after Azrael had taken her memories away?

He couldn’t imagine what he would have done if Crowley had given up on him. The thought was too painful to hold in his mind for long.

“I don’t know what else I can do.”

The angel smiled sympathetically, glancing at Crowley briefly before turning his attention back to Remiel. “You could start by telling him the truth,” Aziraphale offered. “It’s something I should have done with Crowley a long time ago.” He felt the soft presence of Crowley’s hand squeezing his upper arm and Aziraphale smiled. “It would have saved us both a lot of pain.”

Remiel shook her head, and Aziraphale felt an ache in his heart. One that only grew in intensity when he heard what she had to say.

“I don’t want him to love me because he thinks he should,” Remiel explained, kicking at the cobblestone slab beneath her feet. “I don’t want him to feel guilty for forgetting me or mourning over the time we could have had together.” Her voice was firm, and Aziraphale could tell she had put a lot of thought into her decision not to tell Dantalion how she felt about him.

“I want him to choose me now, the way I am, Aziraphale.” Finally, the emotion began to creep back into Remiel’s voice. The angel felt Crowley stiffen slightly beside him, but he did not turn his head to see if it was because his demon had finally found the person he’d been looking for or not. “The demons weren’t the only ones who changed after the Fall. We all did. I want him to love who I am now, on his own. Not because I told him we used to care for each other in another lifetime neither one of us really remembers.”

Aziraphale wished there was something he could say, but he was at a loss for words. He understood where Remiel was coming from, even if he wasn’t entirely sure he agreed. Would he have done the same, if given the choice? If Aziraphale had loved someone before the Fall, someone who had forgotten him, would he have told them the truth?

A sudden thought entered the angel’s mind and he felt his heartbeat begin to quicken. What if he  _ had _ loved someone back then? There was no way for him to know, not with his memories taken from him. He’d never once stopped to consider it before. Until recently, Aziraphale hadn’t even known it to be a possibility. For the longest time, the only love he’d felt was for Crowley and he’d been forced to hide it away. The thought that there could have been someone else was heartbreaking and a little bit terrifying.

Before his thoughts could spiral out of control again, the angel caught sight of four smiling children, weaving their way through the crowd. Adam and his friends approached him, the excitement that was buzzing between them was palpable.

“What’s going on?” Adam asked, as he looked around with wide hazel eyes. “Are we rallying for something? Did one of the other Archangels show up?”

“No, kid,” Crowley started, voice a bit tighter than usual. Aziraphale turned to look at his friend. Something was wrong. He couldn’t put his finger on it, but Crowley was definitely upset about something. “Nothing remotely fun like that. Don’t you and your friends have school or something to get to?”

Pepper shook her head, frowning as she crossed her arms across her chest. “No,” she announced with a flourish. “It’s Saturday. No one goes to school on Saturday.”

Of course. His blue eyes softened with understanding. Crowley was afraid for them. He knew what today would bring, just as much as Aziraphale did and he was trying to protect the children. He didn’t want them to discover what was going on. He didn’t want them to ask to come along.

Before Aziraphale could open his mouth to offer up another suggestion, Dantalion landed by Remiel’s side, nodding at her in affirmation. The look in her eyes did not change as she took in his form. Aziraphale didn’t understand what his presence here meant at the moment, but it was obvious the Archangel did.

“Right,” she began, turning to gaze at Uriel and Barachiel who Aziraphale just noticed had taken a stand on the fountain’s edge, placing them a head above most of the other angels and demons gathered around them. “That’s our cue to go.”

“Go?” Brian asked, hesitantly, his eyes flickering up to the pair of Archangels and back. “Where are we going?”

“ _ We _ are going on a little flight,” Crowley answered immediately, before any of the other authority figures had a moment to speak. “You all are going home.”

“Crowley,” Remiel interrupted as the children began to protest the unfair situation. The demon turned toward her, amber eyes flashing. Aziraphale clung tighter to his friend, stomach twisting violently inside him. Oh, how he wished they could just go back to the bookshop and forget about all of this. Why couldn’t they just keep to themselves and be left in peace? “They have to come with us.”

“The hell they do!” Crowley shot back, eyes flashing, the barest whisper of a hiss escaping his lips. “They’re jussst kidss.”

“They brought Uriel back,” Dantalion pointed out. If looks could kill, the former Duke would be six feet under by now. Crowley glared at him, his hatred on display for all to see. “We need them to stand with us.”

“And Anathema and Newton too,” Adam demanded. “We won’t go without them.”

Crowley looked as if he were about to explode with frustration. Aziraphale could understand his love’s pain. They both had grown to care for the humans over the past year and dragging them into danger once again was the last thing Aziraphale or Crowley wanted to do. But what choice did they have? Remiel was right. This was the end of the world they were talking about. They couldn’t take any chances.

“Fine,” the demon glowered, amber eyes flickering away. “But their safety comes before anything else. At the first sign of trouble, I want angels and demons on standby to get them out.” He paused, eyes flashing first to Remiel, then Dantalion, daring them to say another word.

“You’ll fly with us,” Remiel announced when no one argued against Crowley’s demands. “I will send a group to pick up Newton and Anathema. They can meet us there.”

“Where are we going?” Brian asked again, this time with a bit more certainty.

“Eden,” was all Remiel said before turning to address a group of angels at the edge of the pack. Aziraphale motioned to the kids to come closer, finally releasing his arm from Crowley’s. He had a feeling he was going to need it.

“Brian, you travel with Crowley,” the angel offered, remembering how his friend had comforted the boy weeks ago after the incident at the bandstand. He was hoping that their method of travel would be comfortable enough, but if the boy got scared, Aziraphale knew Crowley would be there for him. “Wensleydale, you’re with me. Pepper and Adam can go with Dantalion and Amariel.”

He almost offered up Remiel as an option, but she had already disappeared into the crowd, likely making her way over to where Uriel and Barachiel were standing. 

Something tugged at the back of Aziraphale’s mind and the angel paused for a moment. With the snap of his fingers, a long metal sword appeared in his hand. He felt the warmth of it rush up his arm, but Aziraphale held back. Now was not the time. He hoped he would not be forced to use it, but the angel knew he needed to bring it with him. Just in case.

Turning back to the children before him, Aziraphale knelt down and held out his hand to Wensleydale. “Keep this safe for me,” he requested, offering the sword up to the boy. Wensleydale’s eyes went wide, but he took the object, clutching it close to his chest.

Then, Aziraphale motioned for the child to come forward, his arms outstretched. He allowed the boy to get settled comfortably, watching as the others did the same. The children were small enough, and they all were stronger than the average human. They would be able to carry the humans with them with little effort. All the way to Eden.

All eyes turned to the Archangels. Aziraphale stood to attention, the child cradled gently in his arms, hands wrapped securely around his neck. Wensleydale looked cautious, but not afraid as he glanced around at his friends, all in similar positions.

This was it. They were on their way. Armageddon, round two.

Aziraphale’s stomach twisted unpleasantly. He was not ready for this.

In one fluid motion, at the Archangels’ command, millions of wings made themselves present. Aziraphale looked around him and the sight that assaulted his eyes took his breath away. Every corner of the airbase was filled with eternal beings. Their wings were out, reflecting every color of the visual spectrum under the autumn sunlight.

“Why didn’t your wings change color like everyone else?” Wensleydale asked, looking up at Aziraphale’s face with curiosity behind his gold rimmed glasses.

“They were the first,” Dantalion explained, looking over at the child in Aziraphale’s arms. “The first to name Earth as their home. The first of us to realize what really mattered.”

It was an interesting theory, one that Aziraphale had no idea of the truth associated with it. He would have to ponder that thought once they returned to London.

If they ever returned to London.

They took to the sky in a flurry of wings that seemed to go on for miles. Aziraphale felt the rush of the autumn wind through his hair and against his white feathers as he flapped his wings harder and harder, rising higher into the sky with each beat that went by.

Wensleydale looked on with awe, one of his hands clutching at his glasses as he glanced around them. Aziraphale held on tightly, afraid if he lost focus for an instant, he might drop the boy. The angel shuddered, and he knew the reaction wasn’t from the cold. What a terrible thing that would be.

The trip to Eden was a quick one, quicker than it ought to be. With so many of them travelling together, the miracles flowed naturally, bending space around them so at one moment, they were soaring over the London streets, invisible to human eyes, and the next an endless desert stretched outward beneath them in all directions. 

Aziraphale felt the heat of the desert blast against his face as they shifted from one part of the globe to another. His grip on Wensleydale tightened just a bit as the angel drifted upward, careful to keep Crowley in his sight at all times.

Although no angel or demon had set foot in Eden for over six thousand years, they all instinctively knew where to go. Aziraphale followed the flock, keeping his eyes set on the horizon, looking for the first signs that they were approaching.

How strange it was to be going back, after all this time. The angel had many fond memories here, the best of which had been his conversation with Crowley. How could he have known back then, when the world was so new, what that exchange would come to mean to him? It only seemed fitting they would stand together here and save the world one last time.

Heavens, Aziraphale hoped it would be the last time. He didn’t know how much more of this he could take.

“There it is,” Crowley’s murmured comment drifted down toward him and Aziraphale looked up. His friend was right. There, on the horizon, growing larger by the second, was the wall of Eden. Still standing firm after all these years.

Aziraphale felt his heart soar, despite the events that had brought them there. This was where it had all begun. This garden had been his home for so long - longer than even he remembered, apparently.

“Oh no.”

The angel looked up, trying to catch a glimpse of Crowley’s face. Trying to understand why his demon had sounded like the world had already ended in that moment. Slowly, Aziraphale’s eyes drifted forward. He banked to one side, careful not to clip anyone else’s wings as a draft of hot air pushed him up to a better vantage point.

There was the wall. He could see it as clear as day, invisible to any human that might come upon it, but a beacon to the angels and demons now approaching. He saw the wall, standing tall and resolute, encircling the garden, separating it from the rest of the world.

From his position high above the desert sands below them, Aziraphale saw the Wall of Eden, and beyond it, he saw the dried up riverbeds. The shriveled leaves and scraggly branches and brown dirt where green grass used to be. He saw the emptiness, the hollowness, the despair.

He saw the wall, and beyond it, he saw desolation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright...we are getting right down to the wire, folks. One final chapter (probably) and an epilogue left. What do you think is going to happen? I'd love to hear any predictions you might have here :)
> 
> I have a busy weekend coming up, so I will try to get the next bit out as soon as I can. There is also a chance it could go long like the last chapter did, so I may end up splitting it into two parts before the epilogue.
> 
> See you all soon!


	50. Chapter 35

Crowley was the first of them to land. He’d seen the dying garden from up above them and had rushed forward with a sudden burst of speed, heart hammering away in his chest, threatening to break out through the bony cage that held it in. Brian clung to him tightly as the demon’s wide black wings sent up a cloud of dirt and dust moments before his snakeskin boots hit the ground. Without a word, the demon set his charge down and looked around with wide amber eyes. 

This was a far cry from the lush garden he remembered. It may have been over six thousand years since the demon had last set foot in Eden, but he could never forget this paradise. The grass had faded into broken stalks, crumbling with the barest hint of a breeze. Sharp, scraggly tree branches reached upward toward the bright blue sky above, a handful of leaves still clinging to their darkened bark. This place was a complete and utter wasteland. Crowley felt his heart aching within his chest.

“Crowley!” a familiar voice called distantly behind him. “Crowley, where are you going?” 

He ignored Aziraphale, letting his feet carry him across the gentle hills that used to be filled with the softest of green grass. Crowley remembered how it used to brush against the underside of his belly as he slithered amongst the lush plants. It was all gone now. The only thing that remained of the once beautiful garden was a handful of dried out leaves and patches of grass that had lost nearly every hint of green.

“Crowley, wait!”

The demon stopped this time, turning around to face Aziraphale’s anguished cry with his amber eyes blown wide. His chest was heaving and the demon was trembling from head to toe. Slowly, he met Aziraphale’s gaze as the angel approached him, Brian and Wensleydale right behind him with the sword in tow. Fumbling, Crowley reached out his hand, grasping for his angel, needing to feel Aziraphale’s presence beside him.

“Look at it,” he rasped. The rest of the world fell away in that moment. It was only him and Aziraphale, standing in an empty garden with a storm brewing on the horizon. “It’s gone.”

Aziraphale smiled sadly, his blue eyes shimmering with unshed tears. Crowley was captivated by them. He was drowning in them, unable to breathe, unable to think. Unable to divert his gaze anywhere else.

A moment later, Aziraphale looked away and the spell was broken. Begrudgingly, Crowley followed his line of sight to find a mostly dried up riverbed. The grass that lined either side still held a tint of green, but it was certainly fading. From his vantage point several dozen feet away, the demon could just barely see the trickle of muddy water that still remained. A far cry from the cool, clear waters from his memories.

“Maybe not all of it.”

Aziraphale was right. He hadn’t noticed them at first, but there on the bank of the stream was a cluster of tiny white flowers, their color so light that they practically blended in with the dusty dirt surrounding them. Crowley blinked, feeling his heartbeat increasing in his chest with each second that ticked by.

There was something about those flowers. Something that seemed so familiar. As Crowley stared at them, Aziraphale’s hand intertwined with his own, he could practically hear music playing at the very edge of his hearing. It was a soft, sweet sound. One that made Crowley’s heart swell with joy and wonder, and dare he say it...love.

“Mr. Aziraphale!”

Both angel and demon turned around to find all four of the Them with their feet firmly on the ground. Anathema and Newton were following close behind as were the angels and demons that brought them here. Crowley’s eyes rose to meet each of the three Archangels individually, searching their faces for any sign that this wasn’t as bad as he was making it out to be. That they had somehow expected this wasteland to be here to greet them. 

All three of them looked as confused and heartbroken as he felt.

“Here’s your sword back,” Wensleydale announced as he handed the item over to Aziraphale. Reluctantly, Crowley let go of his angel’s hand so Aziraphale could properly hold onto the weapon. It appeared that they were the first ones to arrive. Crowley had no clue how much time they had left, but if what that other angel said was true, he doubted it would be long before Gabriel and his army showed up. 

“Listen, angel,” Crowley began, trying to choke down his nerves. “If things go pear-shaped…” he trailed off, fear settling into his chest. No matter how much he wanted to ask the question, how much he wanted to assure himself that Aziraphale had meant what he said before, Crowley was unable to get the words out. His mouth felt suddenly dry as the demon began to absentmindedly twist the gold ring around his left ring finger.

Aziraphale smiled at him, warm and bright despite the situation they had found themselves in. Crowley could feel the love swelling in his heart for the angel standing beside him and he hoped against hope that Aziraphale could feel it too.

“I haven’t forgotten, Crowley. Alpha Centauri,” the angel responded, his blue eyes shimmering with emotion. “I am with you  _ always _ , dearest.”

“Right,” Crowley felt himself grinning back, the absurdity of where they’d ended up momentarily forgotten. Right now, it was just a demon and his angel. “Just figured it would be a good idea to double check.”

They felt the tingles of electricity in the air moments before the lightning struck. The hairs on the back of Crowley’s neck stood up straight and he grabbed at the nearest child, Pepper this time, pulling her close to his body as his black wings folded themselves around her. There was no time to feel even a single flash of relief as Crowley watched Remiel, Barachiel, and Dantalion do the same. An instant later, his eyes flew shut as heavenly bolts rained from the sky, shining such a bright white that they appeared almost blue in color.

After a few seconds, the smoke cleared and Crowley found himself face to face with several legions of angels. Gabriel stood at the front, his violet eyes piercing through the dusty air around them, glaring daggers at both Crowley and Aziraphale. The demon watched as the Archangel’s eyes swept outward, looking at the space beyond them where millions upon millions of angels and demons had gathered, standing resolute, their transformed wings on full display for all to see.

“What is this  _ insanity _ ?” Gabriel spat, his eyes widening. Crowley felt a flash of satisfaction when he noticed the glimmer of fear in the other being’s eye. “What have the two of you done?”

Soft skin brushed up against Crowley’s black feathers. The demon turned slowly to find his angel standing by his side, smiling up at him brilliantly, confidently, with sword in hand, ready for what was to come. The metal blade lay dormant, but Crowley could feel the heat thrumming beneath, ready to emerge at a moment’s notice.

Behind him, Crowley could sense the three archangels standing with them, along with all the others who had dared to claim Earth as their home. He glanced downward at the child clutching tightly at his leather jacket, her view entirely obscured by his wings. Subtly, the demon guided her down, underneath his longest feathers and away from the white-winged beings standing before them on the opposite bank. He breathed a sigh of relief when she joined the rest of her friends, securely between himself and Aziraphale, and the Archangels that had chosen to stand by their side.

Before any of them could respond to Gabriel’s demand, Crowley felt the earth shake beneath his feet. He flung his wings out wide to help stabilize himself, gripping Aziraphale’s free hand for support. The hot stench of sulphur assaulted his nostrils and the demon’s heart began to race. Hell was here too? He thought they were planning on staying out of this whole ordeal. What were they going to do now? They couldn’t take on all of Heaven  _ and _ Hell at once. It would be suicide.

He forced himself to take a deep breath. It wasn’t as if they’d had a solid plan before this change in situation. As far as Crowley knew, there hadn’t really been a plan at all. Gabriel was only here with his legions of angels because he believed Uriel was dead and that the humans had killed her. If he had to guess, Crowley would have said Hell was on its way to make sure they didn’t miss out on all the excitement. Hypothetically, if Uriel revealed herself, all would be well and good. They could all just forget this ever happened and go back home. 

“What are you doing here?” Gabriel’s dissatisfaction was evident as his voice carried across the dusty land toward Beelzebub and their collection of demons, who had just risen up from below the earth in a flurry of fire and brimstone. Crowley blinked, his eyes going wide when he realized that the Prince of Hell hadn’t just brought a few of their closest followers. All of the remaining forces of Hell were standing behind them. 

As impossible as it sounded, all twenty million eternal beings had made their way to Eden, for the first time since half of them had free fallen from the heavens. Crowley looked around, finding himself stunned at the scene unfolding in front of them. It seemed almost poetic that they had ended up in the geographical center of the garden, where the two rivers met and joined together into one, forming three adjacent land masses. Each part of their three-sided conflict took up one of the shores, staring each other down with eyes full of apprehension and mistrust.

“Did you really expect uzzz to mizz the party?” Beelzebub asked, their voice entirely devoid of any emotion except a hint of irritation. Crowley glanced over at his former boss and cringed inwardly when the Demon Prince returned his gaze, sneering in his general direction.

“This doesn’t concern you!” Gabriel shouted back in an uncharacteristic burst of anger as he turned to face his demonic counterpart. “This is between us and the humans. You should have stayed in your grimy dungeon where you belong.”

Beelzebub’s eyes narrowed. Before they could utter another word in retort, Crowley felt someone push past him. He turned to find Uriel striding forward, only coming to a halt once she’d reached the edge of the riverbank, the not-quite-dead grass brushing up against her bare feet.

“Gabriel,” she spoke softly, calmly, as her deep brown eyes met his. Crowley could not see her face, for now Uriel stood in front of him facing the opposite bank, but he could hear the sadness in her voice. “The time for anger and revenge is over. I am here.”

For a moment, Crowley thought he saw actual tears in Gabriel’s eyes. The Archangel’s face flickered with momentary joy before being overtaken with overwhelming disapproval.

“So,” he continued, gaze suddenly hardening as he took in her appearance - her casual summer dress, a pair of wide tawny and gold wings shining in the sunlight. “You’ve decided to turn traitor as well.”

“What is wrong with you?” Michael shot back, before anyone could offer up an explanation. “Uriel is  _ alive _ again. You should be happy.”

“Happy?” Beelzelbub scoffed from the opposite shoreline. “What makezz you think he even knowz the meaning of the word?”

As the arguing continued, Crowley found his attention beginning to wander back to the small white blossoms a few feet away. They clung to the side of the dried up riverbed, practically sparkling in the sunlight in a way that was bordering on unnatural. Once again, the demon felt like something was hovering at the edge of his memory - a song, perhaps. The glint of sunlight off soft feathery wings. A bright smile that warmed his heart in a way nothing else ever could.

The sounds of bickering around him grew louder, chasing his memories away. Crowley felt a surge of anger enter his heart. Couldn’t they see he was trying to concentrate here? What was so goddamn important that they had to continue to shout at each other without room for pause?

By sheer luck, Crowley looked down at the riverbed in that moment. He saw the shallow, muddy water clinging in puddles along the rocky bottom. The sunlight gleamed down at them through a cloudless sky, reflecting an iridescent rainbow off the murky surface.

Amber eyes wide, Crowley looked up, taking in the entire scene around him at once. The back and forth debate that had started between a few of them had flooded outward, reaching the furthest corners of the garden. Everyone around him seemed to be putting forth their own opinion, regardless of whether or not anyone was listening.

_ Of course _ . It all made sense now.

“Everyone stop your yammering!” Crowley shouted, surprise appearing on his face when they actually listened. Uriel, Gabriel, and Beelzebub all turned to look at him, those standing behind them quickly choosing to do the same.

“Don’t you all see what’s happening here?” He looked around at all of them, waiting for someone else to make the connection. When no one responded, Crowley reached down to gesture at the water gently pooling beside them, the iridescent sheen still visible for all to see. “That’s  _ oil _ ,” he pointed out for the benefit of those who hadn’t been on Earth as long as he had. “This here?” his arms gestured rapidly between the three groups. “We’re arguing for no goddamn reason. Uriel’s back! Problem solved, right? Except it isn’t, because we’re all so  _ angry _ . About nothing.”

Beelzebub looked over at Crowley with narrowed eyes. “What are you trying to say, traitor?”

Crowley only barely resisted the temptation to roll his eyes. “Can’t any of you sense them?” He blinked, waiting for the realization to hit everyone at once. Gabriel and Beelzebub  _ at least _ should catch on to what he was trying to say. Based on the hardened looks on their faces, the demon was going to have to spell it out for them.

“They’re  _ here _ . In Eden,” Crowley explained, glancing over at Aziraphale. The angel’s blue eyes were darting around in every direction, a white knuckle grip on his sword. His soldier instincts had kicked in and he was ready to protect those he loved from the threat hiding among them. “The Four Horsemen.”

Gabriel opened his mouth to likely say something idiotic and unhelpful when a voice sounded from a grove of trees off to Crowley’s right, several dozen feet away. A figure stepped out from the shadows, a cloak of starlight wrapped tightly around their form.

_ Azrael. _

Crowley felt his blood run cold. This was it. Their final showdown wouldn’t be with Gabriel afterall. It would be with an entirely different Archangel.

The demon’s amber gaze fell upon the twinkling fabric as Azrael glided down the riverbank. He left no trace behind, no footprints in the muddy earth, no smattering of stardust. Nothing. As if he had never been there in the first place.

Something pulled at the back of Crowley’s mind. His eyes stood transfixed by the shimmering cloak as, for the third time that morning, the demon heard the soft sound of music in his ears.

_ What are you doing? _

_ Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to disturb you. _

Now there were voices in his ear alongside the song. Familiar voices, or more specifically one very familiar voice partnered with his own.

_ It’s called music. At least, I think that’s what they’ve been calling it. I heard some other angels singing earlier and thought I’d give it a try. _

Crowley tore his eyes away and turned to look at Aziraphale. The angel was watching Azrael with a guarded expression, his blue eyes cold and unforgiving. What Azrael had done to all of them was truly unforgivable, and not because Aziraphale didn’t have the capacity for it. Crowley knew that if asked, Aziraphale would forgive the Archangel. It was one of the many things he loved so much about his angel. Aziraphale’s kindness knew no bounds. 

Aziraphale  _ would _ forgive the unforgivable, if asked. But Azrael never would. Azrael didn’t want forgiveness. He wanted to keep their memories for himself. Crowley didn’t know why, but he would be damned again if he let the Archangel get away with it a moment longer. 

_ It’s lovely. You shouldn’t worry about trying to hide it. Sing for all of creation to hear. _

_ Thank you, my dear. _

Amber eyes widened as Crowley continued to stare at Aziraphale, flashes of memories appearing and then disappearing in his mind too quickly for him to comprehend. It was  _ Aziraphale’s _ voice in his head. Aziraphale humming a quiet tune in his memory. 

Unbridled rage filled the demon as he turned back to face Azrael. Crowley knew his memories had been stolen. Everyone’s had. That’s why they were in this mess to begin with. But to find that Azrael had taken memories of Aziraphale? That Crowley had known him Before hurt more than he ever imagined.

He desperately wanted those memories back. For good.

“Why are you here?” Gabriel asked as Azrael turned to face him, still hovering over the shallow river that used to be so full and filled with life. Crowley looked over at the violet eyed being. Did Gabriel remember too? Was Azrael’s presence affecting anyone else, or just himself? Was that a glimmer of confusion in Gabriel’s eyes? Did the twitch at the corner of Michael’s mouth mean memories were flickering in and out of their mind as well? 

**YOU ALL SEEMED TO THINK NOW WAS A GOOD TIME TO MEET UP** , Azrael answered, his voice deep and resounding. There was no doubt in Crowley’s mind that everyone in the entire garden could hear. ** AS THE SEVENTH ARCHANGEL, I FELT IT WAS MY DUTY TO ATTEND AS WELL.**

For once, Gabriel wasn’t buying it. “You have never once attended our meetings before. What makes this one so special?”

Crowely could not see Azrael’s face, but he could hear the smirk in the being’s voice.  **PERHAPS I APPRECIATE A CHANGE IN LOCATION.**

“And what about your friendzzz?”

The question came from Beelzebub instead. Crowley glanced over at the Demon Prince, noticing that they did not share in their counterpart’s confusion. If anything, Beelzebub simply looked annoyed. “You failed to mention them during your little vizzzit.”

Once again, Crowley glanced around. He could feel the shift in the air as the other three horsemen revealed themselves. From the scraggly, leafless trees, three more figures emerged, one on each of the three banks. Angels and demons quickly stepped aside to let the Horsemen through, eyeing them warily as they passed by. 

Pollution grinned at him as she brushed her fingertips teasingly against his outstretched wing. Crowley hissed at the creature, baring snakelike fangs as he shifted his body to block Aziraphale from her view. The angel was already in a staring match of his own as War glanced hungrily at his sword from her position near Michael and Sandalphon. Scowling, Aziraphale finally brought it to life, knowing deep down just as Crowley did, what was on the horizon.

“You went down to Hell?” Gabriel asked as the three Horsemen climbed down into the dry riverbed, circling around Azrael as he hovered a few feet above them. The cloak of starlight billowed around the Archangel, although there was no breeze to be felt. “Whatever for?”

He wanted this, Crowley realized with a sudden jolt of energy. Azrael wanted them all to be here. He was trying to pull off something - something big. What was he trying to accomplish? What more could Azrael want? He already had all of their memories. What more could he take from them?

**I HAVE MY REASONS.**

“Enough, Azrael,” Uriel took a step forward and the Archangel turned to meet her gaze. Crowley could not see his face obscured beneath the cloak of starlight, but he could see the piercing blue eyes flash through the shadows surrounding him. Azrael did not look pleased to see her. “It’s over. We know where we truly belong.” Her head turned toward Gabriel and she smiled gently at him, no trace of anger in her voice. To Crowley’s astonishment, the violet eyed Archangel smiled back. “Millions of us have already chosen Earth as our home. In time, the rest will follow.”

**YOUR HOME?** Azrael asked, the sneer in his voice evident, although it could not be seen on his face.  **EARTH HAS NEVER BEEN YOUR HOME. YOU BELONG IN HEAVEN AND IN HELL. WATCHING HUMANITY FROM AFAR.**

Frustration coursed through Crowley’s bloodstream, fueling him with energy. He was lying! Azrael was lying. He didn’t want them to stay on Earth. He wanted them to renounce humanity and go back to where they came from. Them being here, choosing to stay with humanity must be going against his plan. All the demon had to do was figure out how.

“Don’t listen to him!” Crowley shouted, feeling as millions of eyes turned toward him. “The bastard’s stolen your memories. You can’t trust a thing he says.”

“It’s true,” Aziraphale echoed, raising his flaming sword a few inches higher, preparing himself for the retaliation. “He’s taken everything from Before the Fall. Azrael is the reason none of us remember each other. He’s the reason none of us remember the purpose She left us with.”

Silence fell across the Garden. Crowley could hear the blood rushing in his ears, heart beating frantically in his chest as he waited for what came next.

**YOU TWO** , Azrael began, turning to face both Crowley and Aziraphale,  **NEVER LEARN WHEN TO STOP.**

This was the moment. Crowley could feel the shock of it burn into his very core as neon blue eyes met his own. He had a split second to decide. A split second to either grab onto Aziraphale’s arm and whisk him away to the stars, or do something to save them all.

Without a word of warning, Crowley lunged toward Aziraphale and tore the flaming sword from his angel’s hands. Aziraphale’s cry of surprise was drowned out by the surge of adrenaline through his veins as the demon rushed forward with a mighty cry, flaming sword gripped tightly between both of his hands.

Azrael was ready and waiting to meet him, a vicious smile shining in his deathly blue eyes.

This was it. There was no running away now. No turning back.

Crowley was going to save the world. Again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so so sorry for the delay, everyone. I was traveling all weekend for a friend's funeral and it took me a while to get back into the right frame of mind to finish this story once I got back home. I ended up splitting this chapter into two. It was just getting to be too long. I will try my best to have the final chapter and epilogue up by the end of this weekend.
> 
> Thank you for your patience.


	51. Chapter 36

There was no plan.

Honestly, there had never been a plan. Crowley hadn’t had time to think anything through. Azrael had turned toward them with his piercing blue eyes - so cold in comparison to the blue gaze he was used to - and Crowley knew he had to act. He had to do something to stop whatever the Archangel was about to do.

Crowley knew he couldn’t kill Azrael. Even if he had the flaming sword, he knew deep down it wouldn’t do anything against the Angel of Death. It was impossible to kill Death. Azrael had said as much back at the Tadfield airbase during Armageddon.

_ I AM CREATION’S SHADOW. YOU CANNOT DESTROY ME. THAT WOULD DESTROY THE WORLD. _

Even if hurting Azrael were possible, Crowley was the last being on Earth that might be capable of it. Crowley wasn’t a fighter. He never had been a fighter. Aziraphale should be the one pushing the attack, but that would mean his angel putting himself in harm’s way. And Crowley couldn’t allow that. He had lost Aziraphale once. He couldn’t bear to do it again.

Still, Crowley couldn’t just sit around and do nothing. Aziraphale had been right. Earth was their  _ home _ . There was nowhere else in the universe he would rather be, even if the angel was right beside him. Aziraphale may be the most important thing in his life, but that didn’t mean he was the only thing. Crowley had other parts of his life that he cherished. Other parts that were worth saving.

So, he ran at Azrael. Crowley grabbed the flaming sword and ran with all his might. His footsteps pounded against the dry grassy shore, amber eyes fixed on the target directly in front of him.

He saw the scythe materialize a moment too late.

One minute, the demon was charging at Azrael with a flaming sword in hand, and the next there was a swirl of black smoke, a flash of metal, before a burning pain erupted across his torso, reaching from the top of his right shoulder all the way down to his navel. Crowley twisted in the air, barely managing to choke back a scream as he fell.

The tiniest scrap of fabric separated itself from Azrael’s robe as Crowley’s sword sliced upward toward the Archangel. Time seemed to slow down as the demon fell through the air, the starlit cloth fluttering beside him, fading into nothingness with one last glint of light. 

Sound around him ceased to exist as adrenaline coursed through his entire body. Crowley could feel the thudding of his heart resonating in his head as small black dots danced across his vision. He wanted to turn his head to look over at where Aziraphale still stood. He wanted to look at his angel’s face and see the assurance in those bright blue eyes that things weren’t as bad as Crowley feared they were in that moment, but he was unable to move. Unable to think. Unable to do anything except for fall in slow motion, his eyes turned straight ahead toward the gathering of angels, with their pearly white wings, standing on the bank in front of him.

Shock was evident on their frozen faces. Eyes wide, mouths agape. Too stunned to move - not yet, at least. Time was still running slowly, marching along like it had just trudged through a vat of molasses. Crowley tried to blink, but found his body was entirely outside of his control. He was falling, amber eyes only able to gaze up at the faces of the Archangels that hated him so much. On two of their faces, he saw surprise reflected. Worry flickering in their eyes, as if Azrael might dare to come at them next. They did not move to come help him. They did not move to attack Azrael. They did not do anything.

Crowley’s gaze flickered to Gabriel’s face. He was the reason they were all here, after all. The Archangel may not be the true villain here. Gabriel may not have been the one to steal all of their memories, but he’d had a hand in how today had played out. 

Amber eyes met violet and if Crowley’s could have widened in that moment, they would have. He saw pure anguish etched in the deep lines against Gabriel’s brow. Panic alight in the Archangel’s vibrant eyes. There were actual tears beginning to trickle down Gabriel’s cheeks.

It almost looked as though Gabriel cared he was about to die. Like Gabriel cared a great deal what was about to happen to Crowley.

The demon hit the ground hard, air rushing out of his lungs as fire burned across his chest where the scythe had cut him. Sound returned to him all at once in the form of an earth shattering scream. At first, Crowley thought it was his own voice. The pain in his chest was certainly strong enough to warrant more than a bit of shouting. But the wind had been knocked out of his lungs and the fire that was beginning to spread outward down his arms and legs was making it very difficult for his mind to remember how to breathe, let alone scream.

His worst fear was that the sound was coming from Aziraphale. That the angel had seen what happened and had somehow realized what it meant. Crowley wasn’t ready for this to be the end. There were so many things he still wanted to do. He’d only  _ just _ admitted to Aziraphale how he felt, after six-thousand years of holding his feelings back. Didn’t they deserve at least another six thousand years to be together for real?

Pain ripped through him and Crowley shut his eyes, only for a moment. His mind took him away from here - away from this place filled with pain and death and to a new paradise. A small cottage by the sea, with a grand library room and a garden out back where he and Aziraphale could live in peace. Where he and Aziraphale could spend their days, away from the city. Away from the places that had so many bad memories. A place where they could find a home together, to finally be free. 

A heartbeat later, the demon opened his eyes as he realized the scream that echoed around in his head wasn’t from Aziraphale at all. It couldn’t be. One, because the sound was most distinctly coming from in front of him, not behind him. And two, because he was now looking directly at its source. The pain pouring out of those bright violet eyes, accompanied by a scream filled with so much fear and loss would be enough to stop Crowley in his tracks if he wasn’t already frozen in place on the ground, apart from the occasional spasm of pain that richoched through his chest. 

Gabriel was the one screaming. Gabriel was the one crying. Gabriel was the one thrashing around, trying to break free from the arms that had suddenly sprung up to hold him back, to keep him from meeting the same end.

_ Gabriel _ was the one screaming his name.

Except, it wasn’t his name. Or was it? The Archangel certainly wasn’t crying out with ‘Crowley’ echoing through the air around him. Nor did he choose to use the demon’s original title. No, Gabriel was screaming another name, one that went deeper. One that Crowley had forgotten until this very moment, but as it echoed around him, his vision slowly beginning to fail, Crowley knew it belonged to him. This name was a part of him as much as his plants, or his Bentley, or Aziraphale was. It was a part of him just as much as the name “Crowley” which he had grown so fond of. It always had been.

“RAPHAEL!!!”

* * *

Aziraphale stood frozen by the riverbank, blue eyes wide as he watched Crowley fall, arcing gracefully away as he swung the flaming sword up to slice off the smallest bit of fabric from Azrael’s robe.

The angel wanted to scream. He wanted to rush forward and catch his  _ stupid _ , beloved demon, but Aziraphale found himself rooted in place. He could not move, he could not speak, he could not scream in anguish as Crowley’s body thudded against the muddy ground, a spasm of pain ricocheting through it. Aziraphale could do absolutely nothing.

A scream echoed from across the river bank and Aziraphale’s eyes flew upward to meet the sound. It was not a scream filled with rage or one of defiance. It was the very same sound that echoed throughout his entire soul.

It was the sound of complete and total loss. And it was coming from Gabriel, of all beings.

What was going on? Why would Gabriel be this heartbroken to see Crowley hurt? Gabriel  _ hated _ Crowley, probably as much as he hated Aziraphale, if not more. The Archangel was falling to pieces. He had lunged forward toward Azrael, held back by Michael and Sandalphon’s hands wrapped firmly around his upper arms.

“RAPHAEL!”

The name surged forth from Gabriel’s lips and Aziraphale’s eyes went wide. By all logic, this name shouldn’t have meant anything to him. He didn’t know anyone by the name of ‘Raphael’. There was no reason his heart should have leapt into his throat at the sound of it. There was no reason his body should have started trembling in this way. There was no reason why he should feel such  _ loss _ .

_ I will not allow Heaven to lose another Archangel. Even one was too much for us to bear. It will not happen again. _

Barachiel’s words from several weeks ago echoed inside Aziraphale’s mind and he felt his heart begin to race. The angel felt like he held an intricate puzzle in his hands and was moments away from solving it. He had all the pieces, all he had left to do was put them together.

Aziraphale’s eyes flickered to the starlit cloak that continued to swirl around Azrael’s body as he hovered before them. There, at the base just above where is feet lay hidden, was the fraying edge of the scrap Crowley had managed to slice off with the flaming sword.

“The memories are in the cloak,” Aziraphale whispered to himself, understanding finally dawning on him. He repeated himself, a bit louder, so that those of them around him could hear and comprehend.

“The memories,” he watched as Uriel and Dantalion turned toward him. “The ones he stole from us. They’re trapped in his cloak.”

Before Aziraphale could do anything else, before he could think of some kind of plan to get their memories back, to  _ save _ Crowley, four small humans stepped forward, hand in hand with each other to face Azrael alone.

_ No. _ Aziraphale wanted to shout, but once again he found his voice to be uncooperative. It was one thing for Crowley to launch himself into danger, but the children? He could not allow this to happen.

Finally, Aziraphale’s body began to listen to him. He moved to intercept the Them, but Adam met his gaze and shook his head.

_ We’ve got this, _ his hazel eyes seemed to say.  _ Go to him. _

And Aziraphale listened. Instead of moving to block the children from Azrael’s sight, the angel slid down the dusty bank into the mud and practically flew to Crowley’s side. With Crowley down for the count, Azrael had turned his attention back to the collection of demons and angels on the opposite shores. As he felt the human children approach, the Archangel turned back around, his blue eyes flashing like vibrant, blinding flashlights.

“You can’t do that,” Adam stated, his hands firmly gripping both Brian and Pepper’s in an unbreakable chain.

**WHO ARE YOU, CHILD, TO PRESUME YOU MAY TELL ME WHAT I CAN AND CAN’T DO?**

“It’s obvious, really,” Pepper explained, and Aziraphale imagined she would have crossed her arms over her chest if her other hand hadn’t been locked inside Wensleydale’s grasp. “You said so yourself. You’re Death.”

As the children talked, Aziraphale pulled Crowley up out of the mud and onto his lap. The demon’s eyes were shut, but he was still breathing, barely. There was a dark, wet stain on the front of his shirt where the blade had sliced completely through. Aziraphale could see the blood, less of a trickle and more of a constant flowing stream. 

This was bad. This was very, very bad.

Tears pricked at his eyes, but the angel forced them back. He quickly slipped off his coat, tossing it aside before miracling a cloth into his hand. Without another word, Aziraphale pressed it into the wound on Crowley’s chest, hands trembling with fear. This couldn’t be the end. Crowley couldn’t die. He  _ couldn’t _ . Aziraphale wouldn’t allow it.

**I AM, ** Death responded to Pepper’s observation. At least he had lowered his weapon. At least Azrael wasn’t looking at these children with the same level of contempt as he had with Aziraphale and Crowley. At least he didn’t look like he was about to rip them to pieces just for talking with him.

“You’re Death,” Brian reiterated, standing tall against their foe. “That means you can’t kill people.”

Azrael was silent, looking down on them from where he hovered above the once beautiful river. War, Famine, and Pollution had all turned to look at the children, a gleam of hatred flashing in each of their eyes. They had not forgotten what happened last time they’d come face to face with these brats.

“You give people the tools for death,” Wensleydale explained, reaching up his free hand to adjust his glasses. “But you can’t cause it yourself. It’s the same for all of you.”

“War gives people the tools for war,” Pepper explained, looking down upon the woman with blood red hair and eyes like fire. “You give them weapons and stir up their emotions so that they want to fight. But you can’t do any of the actual fighting.”

“And Pollution,” Brian pointed out. “You fill people with apathy. You make them think that what they’re doing isn’t a big deal in the grand scheme of things. You make people careless, but you don’t spill the oil yourself. You don’t dump trash in the oceans. You just stand by and watch.”

“Famine doesn’t kill off all our food,” Wensledyale continued before any of the Horsemen could offer a point of contention. “There’s enough food on this planet to feed the entire population one and a half times, but people still go to bed hungry. You don’t take away our food, you make us think it’s someone else’s problem. Someone else’s responsibility to help.”

“So, it stands to reason,” Adam concluded, his grip on his friends’ hands never faltering, “that as one of the Horsemen - the one who represents Death - you can’t actually cause death. You can only give other people the tools to cause it themselves. You can only be there at the end to clean up their mess.”

**MEANING?**

“You can’t kill Crowley.”

The revelation was spoken in unison by all four children and the moment those words drifted down to Aziraphale’s ears, he heard a deep gasping breath from the demon in his lap. Tears of relief sprung to his eyes as Crowley moved to sit up, the wound on his chest sewing itself shut right before Aziraphale’s eyes.

A low growl emerged from Azrael’s throat as he stared the children down. The scythe still rested in his right hand, sunlight gleaming menacingly off the sharpened, curved blade.

The Them did not seem phased. With determination flashing in their eyes, the four children took one step closer to the cloaked Archangel, their hands still linked together as if they were never going to let go. 

A breeze blew through the garden, blowing dirt and dust up around them. Aziraphale watched with wide eyes as the flaming sword lying in the dirt beside them rose up into the air on its own accord. Almost imperceptibly, it began to vibrate, releasing a gentle hum of energy before breaking itself into a set of six identical swords, each burning bright with a different color of eternal fire. 

Beside him, Crowley stood up, determination flashing in his amber eyes. Aziraphale let out a soft cry and rose with him, worried the demon might be overexerting himself after what he’d just been through. Crowley didn’t falter. He stood strong and sure as the swords drifted outward, finding their way to the Archangels standing nearby.

Remiel, Uriel, Michael, Gabriel, and Barachiel each reached a hand out to grab the sword in front of them. When Crowley’s hand closed around the hilt of the final blade, all six of them began to glow with a brilliant light. Aziraphale watched breathlessly as all six Archangels took to the skies, quickly surrounding Azrael on all sides. 

“Give us our memories back,” Gabriel demanded, his eyes reflecting brighter under the violet flames of the sword that he currently held in his hands. Azrael shifted to look at the other Archangel. Aziraphale could no longer see his face, but he could hear the contempt in Azrael’s voice as clearly as if he were standing right in front of the angel.

**YOU CANNOT DESTROY ME,** Azrael stated with confidence, echoing his sentiments from six months prior.  **DOING SO WOULD DESTROY THE WORLD.**

Gabriel smiled harshly, the action echoed on all the other Archangel’s faces. Aziraphale looked up at Crowley’s face and the bright orange flame hovering a few feet in front of him. For the briefest of moments, his amber eyes flickered downward, meeting Aziraphale’s gaze. The angel’s heart soared when he caught the soft smile his demon gave to him before turning back to the task at hand.

“We don’t need to destroy you,” Uriel spoke up from the opposite side. “Not completely. We just need to take back what you stole from us. After that, everything else will fall into place.”

Aziraphale’s eyes shifted down to the other three horsemen still in the riverbed with him. All three were glancing up at Azrael, looking for guidance where there was none. There was nothing left for Azrael to do. Nowhere else for him to turn. He had been bested.

And he knew it.

Without another word, Azrael exposed his wings. They stretched out from tip to tip, vast and dark and wonderfully beautiful. Aziraphale was enraptured by them, unable to tear his eyes away as the seventh Archangel lifted off into the sky. With three powerful strokes of his wings, he was up in the sky, vanishing behind the clouds, leaving behind a single piece of starlit fabric that fluttered softly to the ground.

War, Pollution, and Famine exchanged a look of panic before scrambling out of the riverbed, all heading in the opposite direction. They did not have wings of their own to escape upon, but no one tried to stop them. All eyes were fixed on the cloak that had stopped falling, choosing to hover in the air instead, at the center of them all, the threads of starlight slowly starting to unravel.

All at once, Aziraphale felt energy surge within him. Memories flashed before his eyes in rapid succession. Visions of warmth and love and a beautiful lush garden. Tears poured from his eyes as Aziraphale struggled not to sink to his knees. He was overwhelmed by the memories and all the emotions that went along with them.

He  _ remembered.  _ Aziraphale remembered everything. He remembered opening his eyes for the first time. He remembered creating thousands of lush, beautiful plants. He remembered music and joy and community.

Most of all, Aziraphale remembered a pair of warm golden eyes. He remembered strong, powerful wings, fiery red hair and a smile that filled his heart with more warmth than anything else ever had. More than anything else ever could. 

Eyes flew open as Aziraphale sought Crowley’s gaze. The demon was lowering himself back to the ground, whirling around to look at Aziraphale, his face also stained with tears.

“ _ Aziraphale, _ ” Crowley breathed, sword already falling from his hands as he stumbled across the muddy ground toward the angel. Aziraphale’s breath caught in his throat as his demon, his  _ Archangel _ , placed his hands on Aziraphale’s cheeks, caressing them lightly, looking at him like he was seeing the angel for the very first time.

“I remember, my dear,” Aziraphale found himself whispering as he leaned forward to place his forehead against Crowley’s. “I remember.”

All around them, similar reunions were happening. The lines between the three separate sides began to blur as angels and demons flitted about, greeting friends and loved ones they hadn’t recognized in millennia. 

Breaking apart for a moment, their hands slipping together as they’d always been designed to do, Aziraphale and Crowley turned to look over at their friends, still standing on the dusty shore. Aziraphale’s eyes immediately fell on Remiel and Dantalion, locking in an embrace so intimate the angel was forced to look away. Behind him, Uriel and Barachiel had flown over to join Gabriel and Michael. All four were smiling at each other, and crying. The joy all around them was evident. 

A shorter, slighter figure, but no less impressive, was making their way across the riverbed, eyes set on one particular violet-eyed individual. Aziraphale nudged Crowley as both turned to watch Beelzebub, Prince of Hell, march up to Gabriel and wrap their arms around his stomach without so much as a single word. 

Instead of speaking, a soft smile made its way onto Gabriel’s face in an expression Aziraphale hadn’t seen him make since the beginning. The Archangel stopped mid-sentence and wrapped his strong arms around Beelzebub’s frame, pulling them in closer.

“Will you join us?” Uriel asked the two standing before her as they pulled away from each other, her brown eyes shining with joy. “Will you make Earth your home, as it was always meant to be?”

“Yes,” both entities breathed, their wings instantly transformed in the flutter of a non existent breeze. Aziraphale gasped as he saw Gabriel’s feathers mold themselves into a light violet at the top, deepening in color the further down they went. Beelzebub’s transformation was similar, their original black feathers turning a dusky grey and several of the primary feathers bleeding a vibrant red.

The transformations continued outward as angel and demon alike vowed to remain here on Earth. As each and every one of them remembered their true purpose and finally wanted to see it fulfilled. One by one, the ‘yeses’ resounded across the garden. Wings changed colors, smiles filled the being’s faces until only one pair of pearly white wings remained. One set of white and  _ two _ of black.

“Hastur?”

Several heads turned in the direction of the second set of entirely black wings. Aziraphale felt his stomach twist unpleasantly. Crowley squeezed his hand gently and lead both of them over to the riverbed, taking his time to climb up and back onto the patch of somewhat green grass that still remained. Aziraphale followed his beloved and resisted the urge to brush the dust and mud off of his pants as they both turned to face the final demon.

“You’re the only one left, Hastur,” Dagon pressed gently with more care than Aziraphale thought possible. “Don’t you want to join us?”

The demon sneered. “You think I’d want to live anyplace that horrid creature lives?” Those standing around did not miss the look of pure contempt that Hastur shot in Crowley’s direction. “After what he did? After we  _ lost _ Ligur because of him? I will  _ never _ join you.”

Aziraphale’s heart sank. He had been so sure it was finally over. They’d all gotten their memories back. Heaven and Hell were reconciling. There was no more threat of war. They could finally,  _ finally _ , all live in peace.

All but one.

“You’ve lost someone?” Adam’s voice was so innocent, bearing no sorrow or ill will or glee at the thought of a demon gone missing forever. Just mild curiosity, as if he was just now realizing some tiny trinket had been moved out of place.

“Yes,” Hastur seethed, standing alone on the opposite shoreline, his coal black eyes blazing in the sunlight. “Your demon friend murdered him.”

Instead of defending himself, like Aziraphale thought he might, Crowley simply bowed his head in acceptance. Nothing he said could fix the hurt that he’d caused. It didn’t matter that Crowley had only been defending himself. It didn’t matter that he’d been backed into a corner. It didn’t matter that he’d done what he’d done to stay by Aziraphale’s side. Given the chance, Aziraphale knew Crowley would do it all over again in a heartbeat. When faced with giving up Ligur’s life or his own, Crowley would make the same choice every time. 

“Why didn’t you just say so?” Pepper asked, glancing around at the other three children. Aziraphale’s head shot up, his eyes flying wide. Surely they couldn’t…? It had been over six months since Ligur was destroyed. By Holy Water, no less. There had to be some limitations to what these children could do - didn’t there?

Apparently not. For no sooner had the thought entered is mind, the air next to Hastur began to shimmer. Black eyes wide, he took several steps back as a figure began to materialize before them. Pain shot up Aziraphale’s wrist as Crowley clutched his hand with an iron grip, amber eyes focused on the very familiar figure now standing in their midst.

“Wha -?” Hastur’s face was overtaken with shock. “How? I - “ His voice trailed off, unable to form the words he so desperately wanted to say. 

“Well,” Ligur commented as he looked around at the multitude of eternal beings around him. “It seems like I missed quite the party.”

“ _ Ligur!” _

Once again, Azriaphale felt tears flowing from his eyes as he watched the two demons reunite. There was a collection of laughs and hugs and good, old-fashioned slaps on the back, and when the two parted, Aziraphale noticed that their wings had, in fact, changed quite dramatically. Both sets were a vibrant shade of orange - the exact same shade as Ligur’s eyes, with Hastur’s having darker orange markings reminiscent of a golden eagle and Ligur’s mixing with several different shades of gold.

Looking over at them now, Aziraphale wondered what would have happened if they’d realized Adam and his friends had the power to correct this wrong earlier? Would Dantalion have come to Earth to try and woo Aziraphae and thereby punish Crowley if Ligur’s life had been restored after Armageddon? Would Aziraphale and Crowley have been dragged down to Hell and almost lost their wings? Would they have discovered Azrael’s cruel acts and traveled all this way to stop the war between Heaven and humanity? Would they have ever regained their memories?

All of this, simply because a demon had missed his friend. All of this to finally reach a point where they were back together again. For the rest of time Earth had to offer them. 

Glancing over at Hastur and Ligur, Aziraphale smiled, drawing his own demon close and leaning up to press a soft kiss against his cheek.

“We did it, my dear,” Aziraphale murmured softly, but he knew those around him could still hear. Slowly, they all turned in his direction. In  _ their  _ direction, waiting for Aziraphale and Crowley to lead them to their next destination.

“We won.”

He could feel Crowley smiling back at him as the demon wrapped an arm around Aziraphale’s torso and pressed his lips up against the skin of the angel’s forehead. Aziraphale took one last look around him at the beautiful mixture of eternal beings, all with their attention on him. At long last, his blue eyes finally fell on the two last additions to their very large Earthy family.

A gentle nod from both of them was all the signal he needed. 

“Let’s go home,” Aziraphale announced, pulling Crowley flush against his side as he looked around at all the faces that had gathered before him. Millions upon millions of faces smiled up at him as they waited for the signal. Taking one last look into Crowley’s warm amber eyes, Aziraphale miracled the six swords back into one, grabbed ahold of it firmly, and stretched his wings in triumph, unable to keep back a shout of glee.

Millions of multicolored wings took to the sky, carrying with them, not angels or demons, but the new Guardians of Earth. And as they flew away from Eden, out into the world each one of them had claimed as their own, not a single one of them looked back. They didn’t have to, because now they all knew where their future lay - where they were always meant to be. 

And behind them, somewhere on a distant plane of existence yet somehow still close enough to hear, the doors to Heaven and Hell closed for the very last time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is it, guys (almost). We've made it to the end. I've got a short(ish) epilogue to wrap up some loose ends, but the main plot has finally resolved itself. 
> 
> I hope you guys enjoyed this story. It was a bit of a doozy to write and ended going much further than I'd originally planned. I had fun, though, and I hope you did too!
> 
> Epilogue should be up sometime tomorrow. Maybe on Monday at the latest, depending on how long it takes me to finish my homework this weekend. See you all next time for my final update (for this story, at least)!


	52. Epilogue

“Crowley, dearest,” the demon heard Aziraphale murmur from beside him as Crowley gently took the angel’s hand into his and pulled him out of the passenger side of the door. “Wouldn’t this be much easier if we just miracled ourselves there?”

A deep, warm chuckle emerged from deep in Crowley’s chest as he interwove their fingers and began gently tugging on Aziraphale’s arm, leading him from the drive across the slate stone pathway and up toward the old wooden front door.

“That wouldn’t nearly be as much fun, angel,” he prompted, steering his angel to the left to avoid tripping over a fairly sizeable root jutting out of the ground at the edge of the stone path. “Besides, I thought you liked doing things the human way.”

Aziraphale smiled, and although his blindfold was secured across his eyes, Crowley knew that if he could see them, they would be sparkling with mirth. “I do, my dear, of course I do. I just figured if it was the transportation you were worried about, a miracle would be much simpler.”

Crowley did not respond right away. Instead, he pulled Aziraphale to a stop directly in front of the small stone cottage. The light from the sun was starting to dip back down toward the horizon, casting a brilliant painted pattern in the clouds above them. Crowley couldn’t have picked a better moment to show Aziraphale what he had found, if his life had depended on it.

“Alright,” Crowley began, stepping behind his angel to undo the tie at the back of his head. A sudden flutter of butterflies took root in his stomach and Crowley had to physically force his hands to stop trembling. This was fine. Everything was just fine. Aziraphale was going to love this. He would. Crowley was sure about it.

To temporarily distract himself from thoughts of potential disaster, Crowley held the blindfold up for a few seconds longer, leaning in to press a gentle kiss against the soft skin of his angel’s neck. He shivered as a soft, contented sigh escaped Aziraphale’s lips, entirely because of him.

“You know, my dear, we could have just stayed back at the bookshop if it was _affection_ you were looking for.”

The smirk was evident in Aziraphale’s voice and Crowley couldn’t help but grin. “Oh, but angel, If we stayed at the bookshop, I wouldn’t be able to show you this.”

He removed the blindfold with a flourish and Aziraphale gasped. 

It had taken Crowley several weeks of scouring the coast to find this place. He had toured many cottages while Aziraphale had stayed in London to catalogue everything in his bookshop and none of them had been quite right. Too many trees, not enough trees, neighbors were too close, too far of a walk to the beach, the house felt too small or too big. Crowley had seen a lot of places, and the moment he’d laid eyes on this one, he knew it would be absolutely perfect. 

The cottage was quaint, with a screened in porch off to the side and a nice sized patio out front where Aziraphale could set up a chair or a swing, if he wanted, and read his books outside. The weather in this area was decent for at least half the year, so it wouldn’t go to waste, and Aziraphale could watch as Crowley spent his afternoons fixing up the front lawn. 

Inside the cottage was even better. There was a whole room with built in shelves for Aziraphale’s books, and a little eat-in nook by the kitchen windows that looked out upon a lush back yard, with plenty of room for plants to grow and only a few trees to give them enough shade in the summer’s sun, but not too much that the cover would choke out whatever plants Crowley decided to add to the landscape.

“Say something, angel,” Crowley coaxed after several long moments of silence. What was Aziraphale thinking? Did he dislike it? Was he too moved for words? Should Crowley have spent more time looking for someplace better? Should he have brought Aziraphale with him? Crowley had wanted this to be a surprise, but what if he’d gotten his angel’s preferences all wrong? What if Aziraphale hated it here?

“Oh, _Crowley,_” the demon was instantly on high alert. He knew that voice. That was the voice Aziraphale used when he was holding back tears. In an instant, Crowley was in front of him, hands grasping at Aziraphale’s shoulders, more so to steady himself than anything else.

Crowley opened his mouth to protest, to tell Aziraphale it was quite alright if he didn’t like it here. That they could go find someplace else together. Or they could just stay at the bookshop in London. Nothing had to change if the angel didn’t want it. 

Before he could get a word in, Aziraphale’s blue eyes met his and Crowley’s heart skipped a beat inside his chest. They were tears of _joy_.

“It’s _perfect,_ my love. Is it really ours?”

Crowley beamed, his worries forgotten. Gently, he leaned down to press a kiss against Aziraphale’s lips which the angel returned eagerly. The thrill that rushed through Crowley in that moment was a familiar one, but one that he thought he would never get used to.

“It is,” Crowley murmured, pulling away to gaze down at his angel’s eyes. Aziraphale smiled back at him.

“I love everything about it,” Aziraphale admitted. “The porch, all the trees, the fact that I can hear the ocean not too far away. It’s perfect.”

“There’s room for a library inside,” Crowley admitted, a mischievous glint in his eye. That was all the encouragement Aziraphale needed. The angel grabbed him by the hand and practically dragged him inside. 

The cottage wasn’t terribly big on the inside, room enough for the two of them to have their own space but still be within shouting distance of each other. A nice open living room was there to greet them on the right as they walked through the front door with Aziraphale’s library room on the left. The kitchen and eating area were toward the back of the cottage next to wide windows that overlooked the back yard. If they squinted hard enough, they would just be able to see the ocean off in the distance while standing in front of the sink.

Upstairs were two bedrooms, one of which Crowley imagined they would re-purpose into something else. Perhaps a study for Aziraphale. Or a place for Crowley to keep some of his plants. It’s not like they needed both bedrooms for sleeping. Aziraphale didn’t sleep and Crowley preferred to be by his angel’s side when he did.

“Thank you so much, dearest,” Aziraphale murmured as they finished their tour. The house had no furniture in it. No decorations of any kind, but Crowley was sure they would remedy that soon enough. “This means more to me than I have words to express.”

Crowley blushed, then cursed himself internally for being so soft. He took a step forward, closing the distance between them until Aziraphale’s stomach was brushing up against his own. The demon smiled and reached up a hand to tuck a loose curl behind Aziraphale’s ear, causing a blush to rise to the angel’s cheeks as well.

“I know you have your bookshop back in London,” Crowley began, feeling his heartbeat beginning to get away from him again. “So we don’t have to move out here if you don’t want to. This could be a vacation home of some sort. Maybe for just a few weeks in the summertime –“

Aziraphale silenced him with a kiss. Crowley melted into it, feeling air rush into his lungs, filling his heart with warmth.

“My dear,” Aziraphale began with the most affectionate of tones. “Of course I want this to be our home. I would have moved here yesterday if you’d brought me sooner.”

Crowley leaned in to kiss Aziraphale again, with much more intention this time, when a knock sounded at the door. Crowley groaned. Who could possibly be interrupting them now? They were out in the middle of nowhere. No one even knew where they were. Crowley had made sure of that. 

Much to his chagrin, Aziraphale moved to open the door. Crowley wasn’t much in the mood to greet any potential new neighbors, but he’d caught the look of excitement in his angel’s eyes, so the demon plodded behind him, forcing a smile onto his angular face.

Only to have it fall when the door opened to reveal Remiel and Dantalion standing on their front doorstep. 

“What are you doing here?” Crowley asked, trying to keep as much hostility from his voice as he could. Meeting Dantalion’s gaze, the demon wrapped an arm firmly around Aziraphale’s waist and tugged him closer. Instead of calling him out on his overreaction, the angel simply smiled and returned the favor, slipping his arm gently behind Crowley’s back, rubbing soft circles of comfort through the black fabric.

“We’ve only just gotten here,” Aziraphale explained, glancing over his shoulder at the empty house. “I’m sure we could miracle up some furniture and snacks, perhaps, if you’d like to come inside?”

Dantalion shook his head. “Thank you, Aziraphale.” Crowley tried his hardest not to visibly tense as the demon said his angel’s name. “But that won’t be necessary.”

Remiel smiled at the pair of them, reaching down to take Dantalion’s hand in her own. The smile that lit up her face was infectious. “We’ve actually dropped by to say goodbye.”

“Goodbye?” Azriaphale asked, echoing Crowley’s own thought. Where were they planning on going? It had been several months since their day in Eden and most of the angels and demons on Earth had already chosen their places to settle down, at least for the time being. They had spread out all across the globe, from the UK to Africa, South America and beyond. Crowley would have thought that, by now, this pair would have decided to stay in London.

“We’ve decided to move to America,” Remiel announced, turning to face Dantalion with a smile on her face. “Time for a change in scenery, for both of us. But we wanted to come by and say a proper farewell. And to thank you both for all that you’ve done for us.”

Crowley’s face softened into a smile as Remiel dropped her partner’s hand and moved to give them each a hug. She pressed a soft kiss against Crowley’s cheek as he squeezed her a bit tighter against his chest.

“I’m going to miss you,” he admitted softly. She responded with a wide grin.

“We’re only a short hop across the ocean,” Remiel responded as Aziraphale returned to Crowley’s side. “Feel free to visit whenever you’d like.”

“We might just take you up on that offer,” Aziraphale beamed as they waved goodbye. “Once we get settled in down here.”

Once the pair was gone, Crowley turned back to Aziraphale and practically dragged him back inside, shutting the door behind them. He stepped in close, placing a gentle hand on Aziraphale’s cheek, relishing the way his angel’s eyes fluttered shut at the touch. Aziraphale had complete trust in him. Aziraphale _loved _him. Wanted to spend the rest of eternity with him. It was almost too good to be true. This was everything Crowley had ever wanted.

Blue eyes flashed open and Aziraphale gave Crowley a warm smile. “Aren’t you going to kiss me, my dear?”

Crowley shook his head. “I’m waiting.”

This pulled forth a warm chuckle from the angel’s chest. “Waiting for what?”

“The next distraction,” the demon responded without hesitation. “There’s sure to be one, you know.”

Aziraphale frowned. “What makes you say that?” he asked, only to be interrupted mid question by the sound of Queen emanating from Crowley’s cell phone. The demon quickly fished it out of his pocket, waggling his eyebrows in the angel’s direction in an ‘I told you so’ sort of way. Aziraphale simply huffed and waited for Crowley to begin speaking.

“You’ve reached Crowley,” he announced, flicking his finger to strike the speaker phone button. Aziraphale was going to want to hear this.

_Mr. Crowley?_ The angel’s eyes lit up at the sound of Adam’s voice. _Anathema gave me your number. It’s Adam._

_And Pepper! _The girl announced, followed by Wensleydale and Brian both claiming that they, too, were on the other end of the line.

_We wanted to call and invite you to Brian’s birthday party,_ Adam explained. Crowley rolled his eyes, remembering the disaster he and Aziraphale had experienced at the last birthday party they’d attended. _He’s turning twelve next weekend and we wanted to see if you and Mr. Azriaphale wanted to come. There will be games and lots of dessert and –_

“We’d love to attend,” Aziraphale answered with glee before Crowley could get a word in edgewise. He stared down at the angel in shock, only to be met with a sympathetic smile.

“Only – “ the demon interjected before the kids could get them to promise anything else. “Only if this turns out to be a normal birthday party. No crazy, magical shenanigans from the lot of you.”

He heard Adam laugh on the other side of the line. _We promise, Mr. Crowley. We’ve all decided to save our incredible powers for special, world-saving circumstances only._

“Good,” Crowley found himself saying. He’d had enough craziness to last several lifetimes. The last thing he needed was for those for kids to start summoning dinosaurs or unicorns just for the fun of it. “Right then. We will see you all next weekend.”

_By Mr. Crowley. And Mr. Aziraphale, _the four humans chorused. Aziraphale returned the sentiment, with Crowley muttering a brief ‘Ciao’ before turning to face his angel once more.

“Right,” Crowley murmured, finally hanging up the phone. “I am going to kiss you now, Aziraphale. And I don’t plan on stopping for quite some time. I hope you are amenable to that.”

The angel smiled against Crowley’s lips as they ghosted over his own. “Perhaps,” he said in the gentlest of whispers, “we could take this outside. I’m sure the stars will be beautiful tonight.”

And so they did. Crowley miracle a tartan patterned blanket to lay out in the grass and demon and angel climbed on, laying side by side underneath the fading light, lips pressed against each other, fingers dancing across each others’ forms, memorizing every twist and turn. There was no one to interrupt them now. No more world to save. No more mysteries to solve. It was just the two of them, laying side by side in the stillness of the approaching night.

“What say you to a toast, angel?” Crowley asked after several hours had gone by. The stars were out in full force now, and were so much brighter than they ever had been in the city.

Aziraphale smiled and sat up, waving his hand so that two glasses of champagne appeared, one in each of their hands. Crowley grinned and moved to place his free hand over Aziraphale’s, gazing into those soft blue eyes he adored.

“What shall we toast to?” the angel asked curiously, looking at Crowley with such tenderness, the demon thought his heart might explode in that instant.

Crowley raised his glass and Aziraphale mirrored him. “To saving the world, again,” he began, thinking hard about what he wanted to say. “To setting things right and building a new future for everyone. To friends, lost and found. To love new and old. To us, and to the world.”

“To us, and to the world.”

Their glasses clinked together and demon and angel simultaneously looked up into the stars above them. A single star shot across the sky, its vibrant trail burning white across their vision. Aziraphale gasped in wonder. Crowley smiled a peaceful smile and both leaned into each other, cherishing the warmth and love they’d found on this planet together. Thinking about all that they had been through to get here and all the wondrous things that were sure to come.

* * *

Somewhere thousands of miles away, there was a garden, filled with dusty dry grass and blackened trees, wilted leaves and shallow riverbeds. As a demon and an angel drank champagne under a starry evening sky, a soft wind began to stir in the desert. It danced its way across the sandy dunes, guided by the brilliantly bright stars shimmering above.

The breeze traveled for miles upon miles, finally reaching a high stone wall, invisible to all mortal eyes that might see it. As the sun lifted its head up over the horizon, turning the clouds above brilliant shades of pink and orange and purple, the wind swirled around the wall, pushing through the gates and in toward the center, toward the very heart of the garden.

And there, in the stillness of the morning, after several months of growing in the darkness, tiny stalks of grass began to force their way up through the dry earth, littering the garden floor with speckles of green for the first time in many many years.

On the horizon, rain clouds gathered. An echo of the first storm this place had ever seen. Waters poured from the heavens, bring with it a much sought after relief and a chance at new life and a new beginning.

Somewhere in the deep deep cosmos totally separated and somehow still connected to it all, the Almighty smiled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And we've made it to the end. Thank you to everyone who has stuck with me along the way for this beast of a story. I hope you all enjoyed the ride :) It was a pleasure writing this for you all. If you've got the time, I'd love to hear what you all thought. Also, feel free to check out some of my other works if you haven't already! I've got a decent bit of stuff on this site and I think it's all pretty good. (For anyone interested, "The Stars Walk Backward" is my absolute favorite thing that I've written to date).
> 
> You can also find me on tumblr and twitter. I absolutely love talking to people (especially about books and writing!) so feel free to reach out and say hello at any time :) I promise, I'll be there to respond. 
> 
> https://braver-stronger-smarter.tumblr.com/  
https://twitter.com/beckers522


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